#when i get customers who don’t say please or thank you i want to kill then But then i’ll get a customer who seems sorry they’re even alive

[omtai]

been on my feet running around like spongebob when he was a mother for the past four hours call me johnny fucking walker

[mothandpidgeon]

Nine Lives (witch's familiar!Ezra x witch!f!reader) - Part 3

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SERIES MASTERLIST

pairing: witch's familiar!Ezra x witch!f!reader

rating: T (evenual E) MDNI

summary: As you came into your powers and your curves filled in, Ezra realized he feelings for you were more than just affection. The only problem? He's a 300 year old crused witch. Oh, and he's a cat.

contents: age gap (like 300 years), angst, slow burn, yearning, probably anachronistic witchy stuff, Ezra is a cat, he won't be forever, this isnt a beastiality thing, mentions of abuse moth never uses y/n.

wc: 4.3k

a/n: I've had a tough couple of weeks (I mean, this week, who hasn't). I hope this will bring some of you joy this weekend. You deserve it. If it did, please please let me know. That would really cheer me up. Also, in case you missed it, going forward I'm going to be updating every 2 weeks. I really hope I can keep it up!

I must thanks @moonlitbirdie and @lowlights for the beta and their massive support of me in life and in writing this. Also thank you @schnarfer for helping me brainstorm some plot!

🐈‍⬛

Aunt Margot’s ringing up a tattooed girl with glasses when you stomp into the shop. You swing the door open so violently that it’s bell thwacks into the wall. You had almost a mile in the woods to walk it off but your anger has only grown, ballooning into a hot rage that’s devouring everything in your path.

“How was it?” Margot asks with a sly smile once the customer’s left with their little brown paper bag.

“River’s disgusting,” you announce. 

“What happened?” her expression immediately clouds with concern. 

“This is exactly why I don’t date witches. I told you that I didn't want to be set up with him.” you rant, blowing past her into what was once the dining room. 

There’s still a turned leg table at its center, now piled with goods for sale. Percy winds his way between beeswax candles and hand-poured soaps.  

“Oh yes I really forced him on you,” she says with sarcasm. “I recall the two of you were practically necking in front of the whole coven last night.”

You’re not sure if it’s the idea that you almost fucked River or the term necking that grosses you out more but you cringe.

“He’s so backwards. Guys like him make me ashamed to be a witch,” you say. 

“How can you say such a thing? Ashamed to be a witch! Do I need to remind you just how lucky you are? After what we’ve been through? Our kind was almost wiped off the face of the earth. By mortals like your little boyfriends,” she says. 

“I’m so tired of hearing that. It’s a shitty excuse. Mortals killed witches hundreds of years ago so we get a free pass to do whatever we want. To treat our familiars like slaves,” you reply. 

She scoffs. “Percy do you hear that?”

He squeaks indignantly. 

“He’s offended by that,” she tells you. 

“He should be. It’s worse than offensive. It’s evil!” you say. Your voice echoes so loudly it rattles the antique silvered mirror hanging over the mantle. 

Margot gathers Percy in her palm calmly stroking his white fur, her eyebrow arched in a way that tells you she’s trying to be patient. You shouldn’t take out it on her. She’s never been anything but good to her familiar. 

“Do you know what he said about Ezra?” You can feel tears begin to bite at your eyes. 

She frowns when she reaches into your mind to hear it herself. 

“His family’s always held onto the old ways," she says, shaking her head in disappointment. 

“Don’t make excuses for him,” you snap. 

She tucks Percy into the pocket of her cardigan and places a gentle hand on your shoulder. 

“He’s an idiot and I’m proud of you. And you should be proud of yourself too. All of you,” she says. 

–

The basement of the Arcane Page might be described as spooky, what with its cobwebs and dusty, amber jars. Apothecary shelves stocked with potions, rare ingredients, and animal bones meet the low ceilings. Disused broomsticks sit in the corner along with willow branches and a black goat’s horn. There are all manner of spell books down here along with hand written notes from your ancestors. At the center of the room there’s a wide oak table carved with runes and spells. It smells like ink and dried leaves and magic. 

The warm sunset streams through the egress windows catching the dust that floats in the air. Margot didn’t have to be a mind reader to know you wanted to be alone and so she didn’t put up a fight when you offered to close up on your own. After you closed the register and locked the front door, you ventured down to the part of the shop meant only for witches. 

Your plan was just to have some quiet before venturing upstairs where Ezra would be waiting. For all you knew he was still huddled under the bed. You could abhor River but only one of you had actually hurt your familiar. You couldn’t bring yourself to face Ezra knowing you were just as bad as the rest of them. 

You start opening old books. Spell books and ancient texts. You’re looking for something, what it is you can’t be certain. All you know is that you felt drawn down here, your fingers itching for the parchment pages. 

When you were a young witch, you came here often. There were spell books that had become your favorites, embellished with intricate illustrations. You memorized charms for changing the color of your hair and shuffled a dog-eared set of tarot cards. This was where you cast some of your very first spells. Magic made the world feel full of wonder yet it gave you some control, an order to things that would otherwise be chaos. 

That’s gone now. All of it mixed up— pride and shame, power and weakness, love and loss. 

You pull a large volume from the shelf, its soft leather cover embossed with constellations. heavy and thick, You need both hands to carry it to the table where it lands with a thud and a gasp of dust escapes into the air. 

You turn it open, the aged glue of its spine cracking. You run your fingers over the delicate pages, so thin you can practically see through them. They’re covered in a careful hand and you can’t help but wonder about the witches that set these spells down, what advice they’d have for you. 

The magic in here is convoluted, singular spells that spill over pages and pages with diagrams and celestial calendars. Some are written in verse so dense you can barely make out their meaning. They remind you of the cadence of Ezra’s voice. 

These are not small acts of witchcraft. There are instructions for summoning beasts and recipes for potions that restore youth to be brewed specially on the solstice. Some of it feels dangerous— curses against unfaithful lovers, spells to wake the dead and use them for your bidding. 

You read through them all with mild curiosity. You have no reason to reanimate a dead horse or brew a cure for quinsy— whatever that is— though it would be amusing to cast a perpetual dancing spell on River if you didn’t think it would kill him. 

You chuckle to yourself as you imagine him dancing uncontrollably, his limbs uncontrollable, as you turn the page. And there you see it. 

What you didn’t know what you were looking for has found you.  

–

You barge into the apartment with a wild look in your eye. Ezra’s still curled up in your spot on the bed. He’s been there most of the afternoon, letting bad memories flood his mind. 

After the elders turned him, Ezra promised himself that he would be better. He’d been selfish and dishonest. Quick to anger. It was out of necessity, he’d told himself, but obviously it had only brought him suffering. He would change. But had he? He’d let you care for him, had loved you and fantasized about you, and he’d hurt you.  

You’re calling his name, breathless from running up the stairs, with a leather bound book under your arm. 

Ezra lingers in the bedroom door, guilt still festering. 

“Look,” you say, setting the tome open on the little breakfast table with a thud. It seems as though you’ve forgotten everything, a whirl of urgency about you. 

Ezra hops up and seats himself in front of the weathered pages. He takes in the verses there, the drawing scratched with quill and ink. It’s complicated and obscure, laborious instructions that must be followed to the letter. Behind him you’re nearly bouncing with untamed energy. 

“What are you showing me?” he asks. He knows. The spell is exact but its outcome is clear. 

“It’s a transfiguration spell,” you explain. 

“That much is clear but—“

“I want to do it,” you say. There’s a determination in your words, a fiery assuredness that makes Ezra’s heart pick up. “I want to turn you back into a human.”

“That’s impossible.”

“No. It’s all right here. And it says under the moon of All Hallow’s Eve. That’s just in a few weeks,” you add excitedly. 

“Little mage, I needn’t explain why this is folly,” he says.

It pains him to say it and not just because being human again would be the greatest gift. Your expression is a mix of frustration and heartbreak. 

“You propose to defy the Elders’ judgment. They won’t take kindly to that,” he says. 

“Fuck them,” you hiss. “The laws have changed. If you were convicted now, they’d take your powers but they wouldn’t make you live like this.”

“They’ll take yours if you do something so foolish,” he says. It comes out harsh but he’s angry that you’d risk your powers for him. That he wants so badly to accept. 

“You don’t deserve to be a fucking cat. You should get a normal life,” you say, your body sagging onto the sofa like it can’t stand the weight of it all anymore. 

“That’s quite a touching sentiment.” Ezra tries to couch the words in sarcasm but his voice breaks. He jumps down from the table and situates himself on the cushion beside you. 

“Why didn’t you tell them?” you ask, defeated. Tearful eyes look towards the ceiling before falling onto him. “When they put you on trial. Why didn’t you tell the elders what he’d done?”

Ezra’s head sinks between his shoulders. 

Damon was the kind of witch that only used his powers to numb himself to the rest of the world. He brewed potions that made him neglectful of his daughter one moment, belligerent towards her the next. Ezra had never considered himself a do-gooder. He saw the girl with bruises and said nothing. He was so disinterested in the goings on, he’d never even bothered to learn her name until his trial. Largely, he ignored them until the night he took Damon’s life. 

Ezra hadn’t meant to engage him. It was a snide remark he made that pulled Damon’s attention away from berating Cee. Soon the two of them came to blows, Damon throwing the first punch with an accusation. Ezra was scrappy but there was a point when Damon had him pinned down and he thought his time was up. So when he was able to break free, Ezra made sure he wouldn’t be bested. 

“You can’t understand how precarious it was for us then,” he says. “A hundred years of witch hunts. The life of a witch, even one as detestable as Damon was precious.”

Maybe if they’d known how Damon treated one of their kind, they would have shown Ezra leniency. But the real reason he accepted his punishment was because he knew it had been his own fault. Had he intervened earlier, gotten the Elders involved, it wouldn’t have ended in murder. You might think him a hero, but when the Elders made Ezra her familiar, Cee made it clear that she did not. 

You sigh, a slight shake of your head, and you sink back into the sofa. 

“You are a more than capable witch but this is ancient magic. It took the powers of no less than three elders to change me,” Ezra says as if it’s any consolation. 

“Maybe Margot—“ 

“You’d both risk your powers,” he stops you. “No, little mage. It’s impossible.”

—

“I’m not coming,” you say. 

Aunt Margot is loading a carpet bag into the trunk of her station wagon. Nearly a month has passed since the equinox. Halloween is two days away which means it’s time for your annual trip to Salem where the coven will be gathered through Samhain. The celebrations will be days long, singing and food, apple bobbing and fortune telling. Your little gathering doesn't compare. 

Last night you couldn’t bring yourself to pack.

“What do you mean?” She asks.

”I’m sorry,” you say with a shrug. 

You’ve been waffling on this decision for weeks but you’ve made up your mind. Even if it disappoints Aunt Margot.

”But everyone will miss you. And Simone’s making her gumbo,” she says.

”I know,” you say. 

As Margot babbles out more reasons why you really shouldn’t stay home (“The spirit walk just won’t be the same without you”), Ezra snakes between your legs. You were nervous of how she’d take this news and Ezra promised to be moral support. 

She throws out her hands with a pout. “I can’t stand thinking about you alone for All Hallows Eve,” she says. 

“I won’t be alone,” you say, picking Ezra up and scratching under his chin.  

“I will miss the gumbo,” he tells her. 

“No Ezra,” she contemplates. “Maybe I can actually win at Scrabble.” 

“Perchance,” he says, and you know she’s mentally tabulating the word score. 

“Is this because of River?” She narrows her eyes. 

It’s not. While you certainly won’t miss him, you wouldn’t let some dickwad keep you from having a good time. It’s all of them, really. Esme and the rest of them. Knowing how they think of Ezra, how they think of you, it makes you want to scream. You can’t subject him to their scorn and disdain, you won’t. You’d rather spend All Hallows Eve at home. 

And then there’s that little part of you. The one that knows it’s preposterous and downright idiotic yet still hopes that you can put the Halloween moon to good use. Ezra shut that down fast but, oh, how good would it feel for the funny little witch to give them all the middle finger? . 

“I’m just not in the spirit,” you say. 

“Well it won’t feel like All Hallows Eve without you,” she sighs. 

“I know,” you say. There’s a lump in your throat. You’ve never been apart from her for Samhain. There are countless warm memories of Halloweens past. When Margot got you your very first cauldron. The taste of pumpkin pie. The year of the freak snowstorm. 

With another sigh and the jingle of her bracelets, Margot pulls you into an embrace. The smell of vetiver hangs off her hair and you breathe it in deeply. 

“I’ll light a candle for you,” she promises. 

“Thanks,” you say. 

“And I’m going to jinx River’s socks. They’ll be damp for a month,” she says. 

You laugh. 

The horn of her car beeps and you break the hug to see Percy appear at the top of the steering wheel. 

“He’s worried about the traffic on the Thruway,” she tells you. “I’m coming!”

“Take care of her,” she says to Ezra, petting along his jaw

He nods. 

When Margot’s tail lights disappear down the street, you sit beside Ezra on the front steps. 

“You could go,” he says. 

“I made the right choice,” you say, stroking down the shiny fur on his back. 

“So what now?” he asks. 

“I don’t know. I've always wanted to go trick or treating,” you say. 

“That’s blasphemy, little mage,” Ezra quips. 

— 

Ezra holds you in his arms. Human arms. Your skin is warm against his as you lay tangled together. The morning light catches on the prism beads you have hanging in your bedroom window, little rainbows dancing across the walls and rumpled bedspread.  His lips brush across your forehead, leaving a ghost of a kiss at your hairline. You sigh dreamily and your fingertips graze his bare chest. You‘re just barely awake when you turn your face up to him, your eyes warm like you missed him while you were sleeping. He greets you with a kiss, your lips opening to him with a low hum. His fingers tangle with yours as the grasp the spindles in the headboard. 

His name comes out of you in a gasp of breath. 

He’s had these dreams for years but they’ve been happening almost every night since you showed him that spell. Sometimes passionate– your thighs opening as he explores your body— but just as often innocuous. Picking flowers in the meadow by his boyhood home. Bringing you tea as you read on the porch swing. 

Each dream is so alluring, even the most banal, he wakes up with the words on the tip of his tongue, ready to ask you to risk it all and turn him. 

You haven’t brought it up again in the weeks since you set that spellbook in front of him. Maybe you thought better of it. Maybe you were just angry. You told him about your spat with River and, while it touched him that you’d come to his defense, he knew it was an impulsive choice. 

Either way, it’s for the best.

It wouldn’t end well. Of course, you’d be putting yourself at risk. He’d made that very clear to you. There are a thousand other reasons why it shouldn’t be done. He’s probably forgotten how to be human and what he would do with himself in this day and age, he has no idea. The only job experience he’s had in the past two hundred years is rat catching.

The logistics of being a human matter little to him, though. His real concern is with you.

He’ll no longer be your companion. You won’t scratch behind his ears, invite him to lay in your lap. You’ll probably expect him to move on and live the life he’s always wanted. He can’t think of one that doesn’t involve you.

At least as a cat, he never has to know if you’d choose another man over him.

He’s laying awake, pondering this once again, when your eyes crack open. Warm mid morning light pours in through the lace curtains, bathing you in a honeyed glow. With Margot out of town and the store closed, the two of you had been on your own, spending the previous dsy together. A walk in the woods, a visit to the coffee shop where other patrons greeted Ezra with friendly scritches. You bailed on plans with the mortal Connor to watch movies and snuggle Ezra on the couch. It should have been enough, that’s what he thought when the credits rolled and you were snoring on the couch, your fingers buried in his scruff. He could share a lifetime of this with you and be grateful for it. But he was greedy. 

”Happy Halloween,” you say. 

You pull him close and he nuzzles into your warm skin. 

“You were in my dream,” you say. Your voice is still rough from sleep, still somewhere far away like you haven’t fully regained consciousness. 

Ezra’s cheeks heat under his fur. It’s not just the raspiness of your throat but his shame. If only you knew what he’d been dreaming about. 

“I was doing that spell. To change you,” you say. 

“I would’ve hoped for something more scintillating.” He plays it off as a joke. 

You huff a laugh and rest your wrist across your forehead, eyes cast towards the ceiling. “Right when you turned I woke up,” you say. 

Ezra doesn’t want to admit it— that he was thinking about that very spell, that he wants your dream to be a premonition. Witches have been known to have those. No, that’s wishful thinking. 

He gets to his feet and stretches out. 

“What a pity you missed my face. I can’t quite remember my own countenance,” he says. 

You sigh with exasperation. “I think it’s a sign,” you say.

“Our dreams are just that,” he tells you.

“Not this one. It wasn’t just a dream,” you insist. You sit up on your elbows meeting his eye with eagerness. “I can do it.”

“I told you—“

“Ezra, I want to do it,” you say with finality. “I want you to be human again.”

He grits his teeth. If he was capable of crying, he might after hearing your words, seeing that resolution in your expression. It takes all of his strength to not just give in and say yes. You know the reasons why it shouldn’t be done and he can’t tell you the ones that make him hesitant.

“You would turn me knowing how much more capable I am of violence? I might be declawed but I will be far more dangerous as man than beast.,” he asks. It still weighs on him even though it’s been weeks since the equinox and it seems you’ve all but forgotten it.

“I trust you,” you say. There’s a tenderness in your eyes that makes Ezra’s heart swell. 

He knows you mean it. You shouldn’t. He doesn’t deserve to be trusted, to be loved by you. He was never a good man, never stood up for anyone else. And it’s that very reason that’s had his mind in knots. He’s selfish. He wants this chance. 

Maybe, maybe you’ll give him the same look as a human and he can love you back the way he’s always wanted. 

“Besides, I know how to defend myself,” you say with a grin. 

That’s his little mage. 

“Very well,” he says. “I’m ready.”

–

You light the final candles on the oak table. The basement is illuminated by the dim glow of candles. You’ve spent the whole day down here with Ezra readying everything for the moon of All Hallows Eve.

Luckily Aunt Margot will be gone for the week so you don’t have to worry about interruptions. You’re not sure how she’ll react but right now, frankly, you don’t care. This is the right thing to do, you keep telling yourself. It’s justice. It’s not about the thrill you feel now, butterflies in your belly. 

You’ve daydreamed about it and after last night’s dream, your imagination feels closer than ever There’s no good picture in your mind of what Ezra will be like but his looks aren’t important. You can’t wait to do normal things with him. What will it be like to get a coffee with Ezra? To do rituals together at Ostara. To hear his old stories again, made new by his facial expressions. 

He’s quiet, nervous you’re sure, beside your cauldron. His golden eyes flit from the flames to the spellbook to the darkened window. Your excitement cools and suddenly you’re worried that your enthusiasm got the better of you. Had you pressured him into agreeing to this? He’s still your familiar after all, bound to serve you.

You kneel at the edge of the table.

“Are you sure you want to do this? We don’t have to,” you say.

“As long as you’re certain you’re willing to take on the risks,” he tells you.

You nod.

“Very well,” he says.

You look at one another for a long time, both knowing that this will be the last time things are the same. You memorize everything about him, his elegant face, the whiskers beside his little black nose, the streak of white fur above his eye. This is your Ezra, will always be even if he doesn’t exist in this form. You wish you could thank him for everything he’s done for you but the words are stuck in your throat. It won’t do to start crying now when you need to focus and recite the incantation clearly.

“I love you, Ezra,” you manage.

He responds with a long, slow blink and you kiss his forehead.

The potion is murky and thick as you ladle it into a dish. Ezra recoils when you place it in front of him. 

“Smells like piss,” he says with a wince before lapping it up. A shiver runs over his body, down the length of his tail. “Tastes like it.”

He leaps onto the table and settles at the center of the carved pentagram.

“Work your magic, little mage,” he says.

This is it. It’s all laid out just like your dream but you’re still anxious. There’s no room for error.

With a deep breath, you straighten your back and begin to say the words. You read them countless times throughout the day, memorizing each verse so that it can flow from your heart to your tongue. As each one leaves your mouth, you visualize them on the page. Magic begins to stir in you, a tingle beneath your skin.

Ezra lays on his belly, his eyes drifting close, paws outstretched towards you. 

You shut your eyes tight and focus your energy, like a beam of pure magic directed towards him and say the words again.You think about him, really envision his details down to the hair. Memories flood you. Ezra rubbing up on the old books in the store. His soft purrs against your chest when your heart felt heavy. The time he slipped on the edge of the tub and fell into your bath. The love you feel for him radiates in your chest all the way to your fingertips.

You’re squeezing all of it palms, every drop of energy within you aimed at Ezra. A vibration, an earthquake. 

You say the words a final time. 

Lightheaded. Breathless. Exhausted. 

Your eyes flutter open.

Ezra lays on the table just as you left him. Unchanged.

“No.” The word slips from your mouth nothing more than a whisper.

Ezra blinks, looking down at his black paws.

You see his shoulders sag and a long moment passes as he gathers himself before looking at you.

It doesn’t make sense. You did everything right, just as you’d seen in your sleep. You’ve never cast with such fervor. 

“Okay,” you say, swallowing hard around a sob. “We’ll do it again. The moon will be higher.” You can hear your own desperation, voice shaking as you try not to lose faith.

Ezra slowly sits himself up.

“Maybe you need more potion,” you suggest.

“No, little mage,” he says, resigned. 

“Ez–” You’ve failed him. Your chest burns, tears brim in your eyes.It feels like you might collapse from the exertion and sheer heartbreak that’s overwhelming you.

“It’s alright. I’ve been a cat for more than a few years. And so I shall remain,” he says.

🐈‍⬛

Part 4

Again, it would really make my day to hear from you if you've come this far! My asks and dms are always open!

[haikyu-mp4]

heyy!!! Congratulations on the milestone! You deserve this and so much more! Each and every one of your fics is just so cute and sweet😁😁

Applying with Kageyama, I'm organised and driven.

hii! thank you so much, that warms my heart!! and thank you for the great application, you're hired<3

Vanilla latte

Kageyama is a customer and buys something just to talk to you, for the now hiring! event

word count; 742 – gn!reader

Kageyama would never understand how Hinata got so into coffee when he already seemed to have more energy than anyone else just by being himself, but here they were, hitting up a new coffee shop because his shorter friend wanted to bring a coffee to training with the Olympic team.

“Just because Iwa says it’s bad doesn’t mean it kills you,” Hinata insisted like he was at Takeda’s level of making everything sound like great wisdom.

“Dumbass!” he responded, as usual. “You know I don’t like coffee.” And just like that, the conversation ended and they got in line, Tobio standing halfway behind, halfway beside Hinata since he wouldn’t be getting anything. They had this conversation almost every morning this week, and Kageyama was sick of it. Why would he keep trying coffee for energy when he knew the bad effects of it and didn’t even like the taste?

While they waited in line, he and Hinata kept bickering under their breaths, or Hinata would look at the menu boards while Kageyama looked at the display of cakes and bakery. That did look good, he should have some for his next cheat day. Wasn’t Tsukishima’s birthday coming up? Bet he’d have some strawberry shortcake.

And no matter how many thoughts he distracted himself with, they were all whisked away when Hinata got to the register and Tobio heard the softest voice asking what he wanted. So he looked up to discover possibly the prettiest person he had ever seen.

“Can you recommend a coffee without anything chocolate-y?” Hinata asked cheerily, making you hum in thought for a moment before nodding.

“Personally, I love a classic vanilla latte,” you suggested, and while Hinata agreed to get that, Kageyama also nodded as if you were talking to him. “And you?” you asked, turning your attention to him, who stood stiff as a tree beside Hinata.

Kageyama had never wanted a coffee more in his life. It's as if his brain totally forgot that you can order drinks without coffee in a café.

“He doesn’t want-”

“I’d like to have the same,” Kageyama said, effectively cutting Hinata off but also earning him a confused glare. “As him.”

“I thought you didn’t-”

“I’ll pay for both,” Kageyama added to hopefully bribe him into silence, giving his friend a strict side-eye. Please follow my lead, dumbass.

“Sounds good!” you said, not thinking too much about their dynamic. You were on the opening shift and talking to them helped keep you awake. “What’s your name?”

“Hinata and Kageyama…” he said, pointing to his friend and then himself. “What’s yours?” You looked up in surprise, accidentally smudging the little heart you drew behind his name. And if your cheeks flushed a light pink from the intensity of his stare, who could blame you?

You pointed to the little sign on your shirt. “Y/n,” you still said, about to turn away and start his order.

“Also uhh…” Kageyama put a hand up to stop you, happy when you looked up at him again expectantly but felt his cheeks copy your flush as he had no idea what he was trying to say. He looked around the café, looking for inspiration, and then back at you.

“Is there something else I could get you?” And now that he was stalling for time, you took a moment to relax your shoulders and take him in. He was a very handsome man, tall, dark-haired, very your type. You would be lying if you said his awkward front wasn’t charming as well.

Maybe he felt your eyes on him because he took to rubbing the back of his neck. “Something to eat?”

“Like bakery or a sandwich?” you suggested, not even noticing that Hinata had moved on and your coworker came over to man the other register.

“Bakery. What do you like?”

“Cinnamon rolls, they’re the best here, I swear,” you said, and your conviction made him finally crack a small smile.

“Two of those.”

“We should come back here tomorrow,” Kageyama said, making Hinata chuckle at the finality of it because even though Kageyama was taller than him, he could clearly see the flush that was still burning his ears. Wait until everyone hears about this!

“Are you going to eat those?” he asked, pointing at the paper bag in his hand. Kageyama groaned.

Shit, I was going to leave one of the cinnamon rolls as a gift. Better luck next time.

masterlist

[yougavemeyourheartyouknow]

Oh, you wanna play psycho killer? (Ghostface! Miguel O’Hara x Fem! Reader x Ghostface! Peter B Parker) Part 1

RAAAAA! Excited about this one! Based off this post. Inspired by this drawing from Andalusia_Lu on Tiktok. Not proofread. Tbh I’m kinda nervous about this one but…Enjoy! Also in this story MJ and Peter are just friends. This is probably the darkest think I’ve written.

(Y/N) - Your name.

NSFW!!, Cursing, use of alcohol, death, murder, yandere behavior, Reader has a bf who does die, violence, blood, said reader’s bf calls her derogatory remarks behind her back, religious imagery(I think???), stalking, male masturbation, invasion of privacy, reader being drugged, panty stealing, stalking, implied kidnapping, gore, cameras being placed in readers home without their knowledge, it’s a horror one shot so… you know what you’re walking into. Dead Dove Do not eat, MDNI!

Word count: 2.5k

Part 2

Masterlist

—

October 31st, Halloween night. Also know as the night that gives college students an excuse to get fucked up while in a shit quality costume that cost 50 bucks at spirit Halloween.

That little rule you are not exempt from, that’s how you found yourself in a random college frat party at NYU, a bottle of beer in one hand, and your boyfriend’s in the other as you drag him through the crowd so you both can dance. The alcohol in your system made your whole body relaxed and your cheeks glow with a dash of red over them, your eyes half-lidded and your smile wide as you looked up at Daniel while Promiscuous from Nelly Furtado blasted through the house. You looked like an angel straight from heaven, although that might be due to your customer, being dressed up as Juliet from the 1996 movie, while your boyfriend was clattered in armor as Romeo. The costumes being your idea after having rewatched the movie a few weeks ago.

You both had lost the rest of your group in the crowd, Jess and MJ had said they were going to the kitchen while Miguel and Peter had said they were going outside to get fresh air but you haven’t seen them since, you wouldn't have extremely worried, if it wasn’t for the reason sightings of the ghostface killer that had been popping up on the news though. Sure maybe going to a party wasn’t the best idea either but you figured you would have been fine since you were going in a group, I mean, what wouldn’t you be okay? It’s not like an actual serial killer goes after a group of young adults who are all drunk right? But now you’ve lost 4 out of 6 people in said group. But maybe in the small chance you do get targeted, you should be able to stand a chance since your Daniel was always in the gym with Miguel, so he was pretty jacked (not as jacked as Miguel though but you’ll never say that out loud).

One song turned to two then to three, just like the beers in Daniel’s hand, you had slowed down so you could at least be sober enough to order a Lyft for when the night was over. Eventually you were whisked away from your boyfriend by MJ and Jess, thankful that they were still at the party and nothing happened to them.

“Hey, have you guys seen Peter or Miguel?” You shouted over the music after a while, Jess just shrugged, before MJ answered.

“They texted me that they found Daniel and he’s like, fucked up apparently.”

—

“Please!”

Stab.

“I don’t want to die! Please stop!”

Stab.

“I’ll give anything! Just don’t kill me!”

The begs and pleads become more desperate and sloppy with every second, the words slurring more together from the alcohol and the crimson red liquid dribbling out of Daniel's mouth. The sight was almost enough to make the two men feel pity. Almost.

“Anything?” The shorter one asked with an agonizingly slow head tilt, his voice altered from the voice changer attached to the plastic mask, signaling for the other to stop plugging the knife into their victim’s stomach. Despite not liking being told what to do, he dropped Daniel on the floor with a snarl. Daniel quickly retracted into a small ball, shaking arms going to cover his bloody wound with a groan and whimper.

“We want (Y/N).” If it weren't for him being in excruciating pain and bleeding out, Daniel would have thought they were joking, but the tone in which the words were spoken made his blood that was spilling out from his stomach and mouth run cold.

“W-what?” He asked as he tried to keep his breathing from becoming shallow and his head from becoming too dizzy, but he was failing miserably.

“You heard us. We. Want. (Y/N).” The larger one spoke this time. How badly, he wanted to emphasize each word with another stab, the knife in his hands twitched a bit as he tightened his grip on the black handle. He was itching for an excuse, but he’ll refrain.

For now.

Maybe it was the way he responded to a stressful situation, or maybe it was the lack of blood finally affecting his brain, but Daniel had the nerve to laugh. Fucking laugh. The laugh was breathy, and in between coughs and groans, causing Miguel and Peter to look at their prey like he was the crazy one. Rage filled their bodies when Daniel finally composed himself enough to talk again.

“Y-you can’t be serious? …Right? You-you’re gonna kill-kill me over some bitch?”

How fucking dare he.

How dare he speak about you like you were some random skank, like you were a pile of dirt. You were a fucking goddess, Miguel and Peter knew that, because they worshipped you like one. They didn’t see what you saw in Daniel, he didn’t deserve you, no one did, except Miguel and Peter, they would treat you better than any other man that roamed this stupid planet, and especially far better then the sorry excuse of a boyfriend that they had on the ground like he was a wounded animal.

For someone who was about to die, he sure had a lot of nerve.

He didn’t love you like they did, he didn’t know your every move like they did. They were like your real life guardian angels, always following behind you to make sure no one would harm so much as a hair on your pretty little head, and how lucky were they, that you were juuust oblivious enough that you don’t notice them, just enough to brush of your rummaged trash as raccoons, just enough that you didn’t noticed when a pair or two of your dirty panties go missing, you had too many to keep track of all of them anyways. Never knowing that one of the two would sneak into your apartment while you were asleep to grab them from your hamper, no matter which boy had decided to embark on their mission, both of them had to fight against the struggle to not stay and watch you sleep, fighting the urge to release their painful hard members and stroke while watching you sleep. They’d be lying to themselves if they said they haven’t lost the battle at least once before, biting into their free hand to stop any moans from escaping and waking you up, while they fist fuck their cocks with the other, but can you blame them?

They just loved you so much and you loved them too, you just haven’t realized it yet. How could you when that pest of a boyfriend of yours was pumping your head full of false thoughts? He didn’t love you like Peter and Miguel did. Sure Daniel might seem like he loved you so much, going as far as to get you flowers and gifts from time to time, but Miguel and Peter’s gifts they would give you were so much better, because these gifts were all given to you with the same purpose. To help them watch over you, make sure you were safe, strategically planning to make sure to eventually fill your entire home with cameras right under your adorable nose. The teddy bear that sits on your bed and the light up mirror over your bathroom sink were first of course.

Peter couldn’t help himself, with all of his force, he kicked Daniel right in the balls, causing him to curl up more in pain. Miguel was going to do the same when his phone pinged in his pocket, he quickly took it out and checked it, your name filling his screen made his heart skip a beat.

“It’s (Y/N). She’s asking where we are, and wants us to meet her at her apartment after she drops off Jess and MJ in 15 minutes.” Miguel mumbled as he looked down at his phone, before looking up at Peter then down at their prey on the ground. “She probably thinks we’re still with him, what should we do with him?”

Peter’s eyes followed Miguel’s gaze down to the half- conscious Daniel, silent as if thinking about what to say, or more likely what to do with him.

“We could leave him here for dead?” Peter suggested, but Miguel shook his head at the thought, too risky, they couldn’t have the chance of him being found by someone and taken to the hospital, that could ruin everything.

“You both… ar-are fucking psychotic! Killing me over some-some bitch who doesn’t eve-even give good fucking… fucking head!” Daniel yelled between coughs, more blood falling from his blue-turning lips, he looked like he had seen a ghost due to how pale he was becoming from the blood lost, and now he’s gonna become one. Miguel’s phone buzzed again, this time you only sent a single question mark, looking down at his phone.

“I want you to know that if I wasn’t about to be late to see you, I would beat this guy bloody, for the way he talks about you.” Miguel said out loud as if you could actually hear him, as if you were actually here to hear how true those words were, but instead Miguel raised his knife with one hand and grabbed Daniel’s hair with the other. Enjoying the way the Dani’s eyes widened in fear, his weak arms flailed around as he tried to fight the larger man off of him, but it was no use. “Guess I’ll just have to cut straight to the point.” He said, the smirk evident threw his altered voice before putting his knife against Daniel’s throat and slashing it open. Watching whatever life that was left in him drain from his eyes.

Peter being the skilled photographer he was, took a selfie of the two with their slayed animal, now it’s time to go claim their trophy.

—

Something was off.

Like seriously off, ever since Peter and Miguel disappeared at the party neither of them had answered their phone, and as soon Dani disappeared neither had he. Maybe the party wasn’t the best idea in retrospect, you let out a sigh as you entered your apartment, and collapsed on your couch, wanting to try and calm your racing thoughts a bit before you changed out of your costume. Closing your eyes, and taking in a deep breath.

Your phone started to ring.

Usually, you didn’t answer calls from people who weren’t already in your contacts, so the “blocked number” would normally set off red flags, but maybe the alcohol was still making your brain foggy, because without thinking you answer the call and put your phone to your ear.

“Hello?”

No answer.

You left out a huff and tried again.

“Hellooo?”

When you didn’t get an answer again you rolled your eyes.

“I think you got the wrong numb-“

“Wanna play a game?”

“I’m-I’m sorry?”

“I said, wanna play a game?”

“Um no thanks. I'm hanging up now.”

“Hang up and you won’t get to see your special surprise though.” Oddly enough, you grew a bit curious.

“Wha..what do I have to do?” You asked.

“It’s simple, We’re gonna play a small game of hot and cold.” You had a feeling this wasn’t a good idea, maybe you shouldn’t answer the call. “Right now you’re cold.”

Without another word, you slowly got up, and made your way down the hall, your floorboard creaking underneath your heels.

“Warmer.”

Your heart begins to beat in your ears, you bring a shaky hand up to the doorknob of your bathroom, you go to open the door when the voice from the other end of the phone spoke again.

“Colder.”

You quickly bring your hand back down to your side and let your heavy footsteps make your way into your bedroom.

“Hotter.”

You swallowed the thick lump of saliva down your throat as you made your way to the left side room, your eyes dead set on your closet.

“Hotter.”

You closed the gap between you and the closet, and brought your hand to the handle, mentally preparing yourself for whatever hides before the wooden doors.

“You're on fucking fire baby.”

Your hand drew back the door, the sight made you let out a blood curdling scream, almost dropping your phone in the process. Your Daniel, dead, sitting on the closet floor, gutted out like a fish. The voice on the other end of the phone let out a sly chuckle before speaking once again.

“Sorry about your boyfriend, guess all those muscles didn’t help much.” He mocked before the call went dead, and you finally released your phone, it falling to the floor, as your body began to shake and your breathing became rapid.

You let out a sob and began to stumble away from the mangled corpse that you once called your boyfriend, only for your back to meet with a what felt like a wall of muscle, you quickly look up over your shoulder, being met with the infamous ghostface mask that has been plastered all over the news.

“What’s the matter (Y/N)? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” The altered voice taunted. No, no, no,no. This cannot be happening. You shook your head as another sob left your lips stumbling away from the masked killer and into the hallway, expecting him to follow after you, but instead he just watched you. If you were thinking straight. You’d probably realized that this was a trap, but you weren’t thinking straight, as you finally reached the front door, you went to unlock the door and leave your apartment, but before you even stepped foot out of the door a large hand came and grabbed you around your waist. You take in a deep breath and open your mouth to scream, but instead a white cloth came and covered your nose and mouth, the strong smell of chemicals quickly filling your lungs.

“Surprised (Y/N).” This voice was a bit deeper, then the one from your bedroom, your head became dizzy as you eyes fluttered, your vision was beginning to blacken, before you were fully go under, you saw the man holding you still was a lot larger than the other one, it clicked, there were two of them.

You black out.

—

“She out?” Peter asked Miguel as he slipped off his mask, Miguel following suit.

“Like a light.” Miguel smirks as he goes to pick you up bridal style, your body limply laying in his arms. The two couldn’t help but smile as they watched your sleeping form, so peaceful looking, like an Angel. Their angel. Their plan played out just as they wanted, you were theirs now, and theirs alone. No one could come in the way of you three anymore, all they had to do now was make sure you wouldn’t leave them. But how would you do that if you didn’t know where you were? You couldn’t. That’s why Miguel gently placed you in the backseat of Peter’s car, before getting into the passenger’s seat. They were going to make sure you were far, far away from your old life, so you could start your new one with your lovesick killers.

[a-whisper-in-the-forest]

Oh my goodness, I just read Coffee and Tips and IT’S SO GOOD! I love the civilian’s and villain’s dynamic and like villain said “now that I got a taste and want more.”

So I was wondering and hoping, could you please continue it? I understand if you were intending it to be a fun one off story, are too busy or can’t.

It’s alright either way and I know when it’s hard to continue something you write and feel like there’s nothing more to add. So no pressure. Thanks regardless, it’s absolutely wonderful and I love your writing style! Please take care and I hope you have the most wonderful day and everyday beyond that! 💖✨

Hi! That's so nice! I hope you have a wondeful day too and everyday beyond that haha. Anyway, here it is! There's a bit of fighting, so not that sweet (unless you think protective villains are sweet). I hope you like it. Enjoy!

Part 1 (coffees and tips)

Somebody I care about

Civilian looks at the clock. Only one hour before their shift ends. They sigh as they wipe down the already clean counter. There weren't a lot of customers today, they are probably all scheming in their lair. It has been their most boring shift in a while.

Just as Civilian puts away some clean mugs, a customer walks in. “Good morning! Can I get you anything?” they say as a record on a loop. As they turn around though, their heart makes a little jump.

“Villain! I didn't know you were coming today,” Civilian smiles. “I didn’t have anything else to do today and my henchmen are horrible at making coffees,” Villain says, also smiling widely. “It’s a nice day, right? The sun has been shining all day.” Civilian lets out a sigh. “I’ve been here the whole day. I haven’t had the chance yet to enjoy the weather.” Villain takes a few steps closer to the counter. “I’m sorry to hear that, you should come sit outside with me.”

Civilian really wants to go sit outside with them. Villain has visited the café a few times now and they always enjoyed their conversations. They can rant about their problems and tell them about their life and Villain would always listen very carefully. Then, after buying themselves and Civilian a coffee, they would leave an outrageously large tip (not that they were complaining) and leave. Civilian doesn’t know why villain does this, but it is so relieving being able to tell somebody everything they were worried about. They could really use a talk like that right now.

Right as Civilian wants to agree with Villain’s proposal, another person bursts through the door. “There you are! I swear Villain, if you don’t give back Sidekick right now!” Superhero’s voice booms across the little café. Now it was Villain’s turn to sigh. “They really don’t understand the concept of free will, do they?” Villain asks themselves more than anyone else in the room.

“Hand them over!” Superhero yells. Villain lets out an annoyed groan and turns around. “You morons really are too thick to understand what I’m saying, huh?” Superhero lets out an offended scoff. “Morons?! How dare you call us that, you lowlife thief!”

They get closer to Villain and start getting in their face, which, given Superhero’s height, looks ridiculous. Villain towers over Superhero, not only by physical height but also by demeanour. “I’m only going to say it one more time. Sidekick. wanted. to. change. sides.” Villain starts slowly. “They are not going to and don’t want to come back to you.”

“Lair.” Superhero hisses. “Are you serious? I wouldn’t want to go back either if my boss acts like this.” Civilian only realises that they said that out loud after it was said. Superhero’s gaze snaps to Civilian. If looks could kill, they would drop dead right that instant. “I don’t need your opinion, rat. Be a good peasant and keep your mouth shut.”

Civilian saw something in Villain shift. “I think it’s time for you to leave,” Villain says in a tone that sent shivers down Civilian’s spine. “I don’t think the same thing. Who are you to-” That’s all Superhero could say before crashing into a wall. Villain slowly walks towards the coughing hero. In a ice cold tone that would scare the toughest person on earth, Villain talks slowly. “I don’t want to see your face ever again. You run back to your agency and tell them to never expect Sidekick back.” Superhero is still trying to catch their breath. After a few minutes they manage to speak. “But-” Villain kicks the kneeling Superhero down and puts their foot on their neck. “I don’t want to hear it. You’re lucky someone I care about is in the room. Otherwise, it wouldn’t have been so kind.”

Villain lets the hero go and steps back. The Superhero runs out and doesn’t dare to look back. Civilian comes around the corner of the bar. They can’t help but repeat the words in their head.

‘Somebody I care about’

It makes their heart jump and their stomach is feeling funny. “Sorry about that,” Villain starts, “Just tell Boss I will pay for the damages.” Civilian nods. They are thankful it won’t be taken out of their paycheck. “I think it’s better that I leave,” Villain says as they push a heap of cash into Civilian’s hands. “For the trouble.”

Before Civilian can ask about anything, Villain is out the door. Even though villain isn’t there anymore, there are still butterflies flying in their stomach.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Called to Duty 2

Warnings: non/dubcon, pregnancy, abandonment, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Characters: Captain Syverson

Summary: You struggle to move on from the biggest mistake of your life but find it hard to forget among the whispers of a small town.

Part of the Backwoods AU

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

You shift on your feet. Your arches kill and your hips feel like they're splitting apart. For all you know, they are. Every day is a new fun side effect. 

You lean on the counter, standing vigil at the customer service till. Unlike the pharmacists and their assistants in the back, you don't get a chair. You refuse to complain, you know it would only add venom to their gossip. Even here, you're not safe from the whispers. 

The break room is a nest of snakes. You learned that one day as you walked in on a conversation that couldn't stop soon enough. You know they talk about you, there really isn't much else to do around Hammer Ford. Even if it's only borne of boredom, their words still hurt. 

The pharmacy is quiet but for the fuzzy noise of the overhead speakers playing outdated songs on repeat. You reach to rub your lower back. You’re not that big. Not as big as you will be but you don’t know how much longer you can stand in the same spot for eight hours. 

You stare at the till, the blue border on the screen blazing into your vision. You can’t help but drift into you even less glorious future. This won’t change. You’ll be stuck here, working hour after hour, only you’ll be poorer and more tired. You’ll have a whole other person to take care of and look how you’ve done just taking care of yourself. 

Your chest rents and you let out the breath trapped beneath your dread. Something clacks onto the counter and shakes you back to reality. You face, the customer, your vision slowly narrowing back to focus. 

You glance at sigh then down at the bottle on the counter. He has one of the novelty stuffed rabbits in his hand and a jar of cream. He puts those down too and you squint at them curiously. You take the bottle of vitamins and wave them towards the scanner. 

“I read you should take iron and folic acid. Those have both,” he says, “you also should be sitting down.” 

“What?” You frown, the bottle still in your hand, and stare at him. 

“This cream should help with the dry skin. The book said as you grow, you’ll get itchy--” 

“What are you talking about?” You put the bottle down and cross your arms. 

“Do you have a belly belt?” 

“Sy,” you say his name firmly, “are you... are you trying to give this to me?” 

He huffs and pulls out his wallet, “you need it.” 

“How do you know I don’t have it already?” You ask, thoughts scrambling at his kind, thought it edges along presumptuousness. 

“Do you? What do you need then? Stuff for the nursery?” His eyes roll upward, “not much room up there for a baby.” 

You want to shrink into nothing. You straighten your arms and grip the edge of the counter, “I know. Sy, this is a nice gesture but... I barely know you. It's too much. Not your responsibility.” 

“Mm, and where’s the man who should be taking responsibility?” He reaches to pluck up a chocolate bare from shelf on the other side of the till. He drops it on the counter, “you got cravings too?” 

You shake your head. Ugh, you hate how quickly your hormones have your heart racing and your eyes misty. It’s so nice of him despite being completely off putting. No one else, not even your own mother, even tried to help you. 

“How are you feeling?” He asks, “sore? Tired? You got morning sickness?” 

“Sy, please,” you raise a hand and set your tone, “really, I can’t... I can’t. Okay, it’s not... it’s not right.” 

“Isn’t. He should be here--” 

“Please,” you pull the stuff towards you, “I’ll put all this back on the shelf and you can just go--” 

“I got money,” he slips his thumb into his wallet, “I wanna buy it.” 

You blink at him. Daye, the manager, watches from down aisle. She looks less than impressed. Shoot. 

“Okay, do you want a bag?” You ask as you ring in the items. 

“Be easier for you to carry,” he says as he offers a hundred dollar bill, “not too heavy.” 

You cringe and take it, stretching it out and checking with the marker. All larger bills have to be throughout vetted. You put it in the drawer and count his change and hold it out to him. 

“That’s for dinner. Get some protein--” 

“No, take it,” you insist, “what are you doing?” 

His forehead lines and he looks back and forth, “what he should be doing.” 

He doesn’t take the money so you put in on the counter. You unfold a paper bag and put the items inside and push it towards him. Your skin is hot with embarrassment. Worse than any judgment is pity. Does he think some vitamins and stuffed bunny is going to solve your issues? 

“I want you to take it and go please,” you say quietly as you notice another customer coming towards the counter.  

It’s old Ed Parriser; his wife, Ginny, is in line with the town gossip, Lynette. He has a bottle of advil and heartburn medicine. You wonder if those are symptoms of his marriage. 

“There you are,” you shove the receipt in the top of his bag, “I need to help the next customer.” 

He lingers then reluctantly grabs the bag, crumpling the top in his large hand. He gather up the money and closes it in his fist. Reluctantly, he backs away, looming just at the end of the counter as Ed puts down his haul. 

“Hello, sir, how are you today?” You ask. 

“Eh, I’m doin’ okay,” he answers in his wheezy way, “ha,” he scoffs as he watches you scan, “I thought Ginny was tellin’ one of her stories again.” 

“Oh yeah?” You look up curiously, putting on a sunny smile, “what did she say?” 

“Said you got yourself knocked up like a floozy,” he chortles, “maybe I’ll just start listening to her--” 

Ed grunts as suddenly he’s grabbed by the collar of his plaid shirt. Sy has him in a death grip knuckles rolled into the flannel as he snarls down at the man, “keep talking and you’ll need those pills. I’ll split your fucking head open.” 

You stand, dumbfounded by his surge of anger and his threat. He’d only ever been soft spoken, even if he was huge, but he’s rabid like a wolf in that moment. Ed smacks his forearm and wriggles. 

“Let go of me, you lump--” 

“Sir, excuse me,” Daye’s smoker’s creak rises from her throat, “is there a problem? Do I need to call the sheriff?” 

Sy puffs through his nose, chest rising and falling as you watch him weighing his options. He wants to keep going. His blue eyes flick over to you and he lets go, raising his hands. 

“Nothing,” he grits out. 

“That’s right, nothin’,” Ed rubs his neck with a cough, “he just protecting this--” 

“Keep going,” Sy’s rolls dangerously low as he towers over him. The old man snaps his mouth shut so his jowls tremor. He looks at you then Daye. 

“Know what,” Ed clears his throat, “I think Ginny was here yesterday. I don’t need all this.” 

As Daye nears, the old man hobbles around Sy’s fuming form. The larger man sneers at the manager as she nears, her phone in hand. He points it at him, “leave. Now.” 

He sends you one last look, his cheek ticking. He spins on his heel and marches out. You bite your lip and look down at the two bottles in front of you. You grab them and gulp. 

“I’ll just put these back,” you offer. 

“You keep your drama out of this store,” Daye warns, “or I’ll talk to Willard.” 

You sniff at her threat. Willard gave you a good deal on the upstairs apartment but people weren’t happy about. Even if the faucet is leaky and the fridge rattles. 

“It wasn’t--” 

“Keep it out,” she snaps and snatches the bottles from you, “if you can lean, you can clean.” 

[starboyyoongi]

heated. ateez au

⭑ summary: your team only had one rule and that was to never kidnap a civilian. wooyoung, jongho, mingi, and yunho find themselves narrowly escaping death after you find out that they broke said rule.

or, in which things take a turn for the worse when four men kidnap a civilian and they have to face the consequences.

⭑ pairing: ateez (ot8) x black female!reader

⭑ warnings/tags: cursing, gang au, reader is leader/boss of the gang, kidnapping, angst, mentions of murder, gets funny and crack-ish towards the end, ???? to crush, mingi acts as san’s wingman

⭑ notes: i worked on this in my notes app on and off for like a week or so. i did proofread this, but there may still be mistakes don’t kill me please. feel free to leave your thoughts and enjoy! xx

TO SAY THAT you were going to be pissed was an understatement.

what would usually be a noisy car ride back home was now eerily quiet. no one had uttered a word since they had gotten in the car and started the dreaded hour long drive. you often praised the boys for their kind hearted nature despite their jobs and how intense could be at times. they were the water to your fire; the yin to your yang. years of friendship, loyalty, and working with together proved that.

maybe that’s why tonight they had done what was the unthinkable and kept telling themselves that it would be okay. they hoped that the soft spot you had for all of them would override any anger that you may have towards them. it was total bullshit of course, but for the next hour they chose to believe it.

san was completely unaware of the heavy tension in the car. after all, his hands were tied and he had been ordered to stay quiet. his head was swimming with a million and one thoughts. how did he go from handing out bags full of books to customers to being sandwiched between two men who hadn’t said anything past “be quiet” to him? san wanted to kick and scream, do anything that could possibly get him out of this situation, but he couldn’t.

he was terrified to say the least.

san took a look around the car. aside from the two men he was in between, there were two more upfront. one was driving and the other was in the passenger seat. he didn’t know either of their names, but he supposed that it wasn’t important. there was a good chance that he was going to die soon anyways. out of his peripheral vision, he could see the man on his right’s jaw clench and unclench every couple of seconds. that couldn’t mean anything good. san gulped a little before turning his attention to the man seated on the other side of him.

unlike the man on the right, he seemed to be lost in thought. he kept alternating between picking at his fingers and running them through his already messy black hair. the car slowly came to a stop just as the light changed from yellow to red. the man in the driver’s seat was the first to break the silence.

“she’s going to fucking kill us.”

“thanks for stating the obvious, yunho,” the man in the passenger seat said in a sarcastic tone. “anything else you wanna mention? maybe tell us how she’s going to skin us alive?”

“or shoot us in the head instead” the man to san’s left chimed in.

yunho let out a frustrated sigh as the light turned green. as the four men began to converse with one another, san couldn’t help but feel awkward. it’s like he was invisible to them. which sort of made sense seeing as how he didn’t know the four of them and vice versa. plus, he had been kidnapped for fuck sakes. of course they were going to ignore his presence.

san watched as the four men bickered with one another and threw out insults every now and then, eventually figuring out who was who. mingi was on his right, wooyoung was on his left, yunho was the one who was driving, and jongho was in the passenger seat.

the four men’s looks didn’t go unnoticed by san either. all of them were very attractive to say the least and san couldn’t help but wonder what they were doing in a gang. mingi alone looked like he was straight out of an issue of vogue.

with a jawline like that he can make some lucky brand millions. shit, all four of them can if they wanted to, san thought to himself.

“what excuse are we going to come up with anyways? you guys got any ideas?” wooyoung asked, cutting through san’s thoughts.

upon hearing his question, the others fell silent.

truth be told, none of them had really thought that far. as dumb as it sounded, they were kind of banking on years of friendship to get them through this mess. but deep down they knew that it wasn’t going to work.

kidnapping civilians wasn’t you guys’s thing—at all. and everyone on the team knew that. it was always advised against and avoided as much as possible. kidnapping civilians meant that you guys had an extra person (or people) to be responsible for which also meant that there was going to be more problems for everyone involved which also meant that shit was most likely going to go south.

and they knew this. all four of them knew this yet they still decided to take san with them and shove him into their car.

in other words, they were fucked.

“so, um,” san awkwardly cleared his throat as he began to speak. “when are you guys going to let me go? i’d like it if you guys would let me go back home in one piece, please.”

“we can’t.” jongho answered immediately as he met san’s curious gaze in the rear view mirror.

san furrowed his eyebrows, clearly not understanding what jongho had said. “what do you mean that you can’t? you just said that you’re going to get in trouble for taking– i mean, kidnapping me. wouldn’t letting me go make things easier?”

“contrary to what you may think, that would actually fuck things up even more,” mingi said. “if we let you go now there’s a chance that you’re going to go to the police and tell them everything and we can’t have that happening.”

“i won’t go to the police. i promise.”

“you were a witness to a violent shoot out, kidnapped by the four of us, and you know what all of us look like.”

san opened his mouth to rebuttal, but mingi held his hand up as he continued, “you’re also an employee where this entire thing took place. even if you don’t go to the police, they’re going to come to you and there’s no guarantee that you’re going to say quiet.”

“if you’re saying that i’m going to crack under pressure or something then i won’t” san said almost a little too confidently.

mingi rolled his eyes and sighed. “the police in seoul don’t give a shit about whether or not you won’t crack under pressure. they’re going to make you talk whether you like it or not.”

at that, san hummed in response.

mingi was right. he’s never had a brush with the law before, but he knew enough to know there was some truth to what mingi was saying. the police in seoul were known for being ruthless and corrupt. even if san did decide to stay quiet, he knew that it wouldn’t do him any favors. someone was bound to get whatever answer they wanted out of him by any means necessary.

“so… what? you’re just going to drive around with me or something?” san asked to no one in particular.

“no,” yunho said as he came to another stop light. he took a slight pause before he continued. “we’re taking you to our boss.”

⭑ ⭑ ⭑ ⭑

as soon as san stepped through the elevator doors, he heard someone lowly whistle. he looked forward to see a somewhat short, pink haired man staring at him and the others with a disappointed look on his face.

“you guys are fucked,” he chuckled. his gaze lingered on san for a few seconds longer before he turned on his heel and began walking towards the kitchen. “so, so fucked.”

mingi loudly sighed and mumbled something under his breath that san couldn’t quite catch. he was too busy trying to wrap his head around the fact that he was standing in someone’s very expensive and very well furnished penthouse.

he’d never felt so poor in his entire life.

as wooyoung pushed him along to the living room, san couldn’t help but feel like he was in some magazine. from the floors to the carefully placed art pieces on the walls to the giant television that sat on the wall, everything felt so rich and so opulent. he’d never seen anything like it.

once they had reached the massive living space, wooyoung pushed san onto one of the two couches and told him to wait. san opened his mouth to say something, but wooyoung was already wandering off somewhere else.

meanwhile in the kitchen, yunho was telling his pink haired friend how everything in the last two hours had went down. by the time he was finished, the man was staring at him in disbelief. he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“i don’t know, yunho… i don’t think that she’s going to let this slide. on top of that, you brought him to her house of all places” hongjoong said with a raise of his eyebrow.

“i know,” yunho groaned. “but i didn’t know where else to take him. plus i figured that she should see him for herself.”

“why? so she can kill him, too?”

yunho gave his friend a pointed look. “she’s not going to kill him. or us. i think.”

“you think? yeah, you guys are definitely fucked. do you prefer cremation or open casket?”

“oh, fuck you.”

hongjoong laughed as he took a swig of his drink then said, “i know you want to, babe. what time should i be over at yours?”

“you cheeky son of a bitch” yunho laughed as he took a sip of his own drink.

hongjoong smiled as if to say ‘that’s me’ before he started to do a sweep over of the place. just as he was about to focus his attention back on yunho, he spotted a familiar figure entering the room. he cleared his throat and placed his drink on the counter before raising his voice a little to say,

“hey, boss.”

at those words, the room came to a halt. all eyes were on you as you made eye contact with a visibly tense and frightened san. nervously, he stood up and slightly bowed his head towards you. he had no idea what he was supposed to do, but if you were truly the boss like yunho said you were then he was going to act accordingly. after all, you were standing between death and him living to see another day.

you held eye contact with san for what seemed like forever before gesturing for yunho, wooyoung, jongho, and mingi to come forward. you walked over to the couch opposite from the one san had been occupying and sat down. you leaned back and rested one of your arms on the back of the couch. the casualness of your form was a stark contrast to the obvious anger that was radiating off of your body.

all four men stood in front of you and it was clear from how they were avoiding making eye contact that something was wrong. san, much like hongjoong, looked on in curiosity. he didn’t know any of these men personally, but how they acted in the car an hour ago was a far cry to how they were acting now. they looked scared, terrified even, and you hadn’t even said anything to them yet.

“what happened?” you asked, an eerily calmness to your voice.

“we ran into an… issue so to speak during our mission,” yunho answered. “we weren’t exactly sure what to do seeing as how there’s a chance that san might go to the police. so we brought him here.”

“an issue? what was the issue? because to me, it seems like the issue is still present.”

yunho opened his mouth to respond, but jongho beat him to it and began to explain what happened just a few hours earlier. it was evident to everyone, jongho included, that you were not pleased with what you were hearing. the tick of your jaw and the angry look on your face was more than enough to make jongho falter in his words a few times and make everyone in the room tense up. when you looked to wooyoung and mingi for answers, all you got was silence in return. neither of them wanted to say anything out of fear of further angering you.

your eyes flickered between the four men and san. you let out a deep sigh and shook your head before you started to laugh. it was the type of laugh that completely void of any humor—one that they (and anyone who crossed you) had heard one too many times to count.

“i asked you to do one fucking thing. and not only do you go against my orders, you also have the audacity to bring this shit to my doorstep,” there was an edge to your voice as you spoke. “and what, you expected me to pat you on the back and say that it’s okay? that you did a good job? do you have any idea what you four have done?”

“boss, we didn’t mean to cause any problems on purpose. please, if you allow us to—” wooyoung’s words were cut off almost instantly.

since he was standing only a few feet away from you, it took you all of five seconds to walk towards him and wrap your hand around his throat in a tight grip. wooyoung’s hands immediately flew up to grab your arm, but he made no move to remove your hand. your head tilted to the side as you watched him start to struggle to breathe. your grip tightened as you brought your face close to his and continued to speak.

“do you really think that i give a fuck about what you have to say to me right now? huh?”

“n-no, boss. i’m sorry.”

“i should put a bullet right in between your fucking eyes. all five of you.”

“b-boss, please,” wooyoung choked out. “we didn’t mean to c-cause any harm. he didn’t deserve to get h-hurt.”

you let out a breathy laugh and squeezed his neck even tighter. “whatever fate he was going to face would have been ten times better than what he’s about to face right now. did you really think that bringing him here was going to go well?”

this time, you glanced at the other three who were anxiously watching the scene unfold in front of them. this was not how they had expected things to go. they knew that you would be angry, but this was beyond that; you were furious.

“yeosang.”

at the sound of his name being called, the long haired man quietly walked towards you and placed a gun in your now open palm. without hesitation, you held it right up to the side of wooyoung’s head. his eyes widened and he gripped your arm tightly, almost as if he was trying to get you to not pull the trigger.

from the corner of your eye, you could see mingi step forward, mouth opened and ready to speak. but with one look from you, he froze in his steps. hongjoong, jongho, and yunho on the other hand continued to look on in fear. in all their years of working with you they’d never seen you this angry before. the boys had their fair share of fuck ups, sure, but it’s never gotten to this point before.

this type of energy was usually reserved for those who crossed you—not for them and especially not for wooyoung.

although no one said it out loud, they were all wondering the same thing: were you really going to kill wooyoung over a mistake like this?

fuck it, hongjoong thought to himself before he finally spoke up. “this is too far, boss. i don’t think that you should do this.”

you gritted your teeth before replying, “i didn’t ask for your opinion, kim. keep your fucking mouth shut.”

“no,” hongjoong said with a slight raise of his voice. “you’re about to make a mistake. i know that they fucked up, but would you really go as far as killing wooyoung? one of your own?”

hongjoong’s question hung in the air as the room fell silent once more. everyone waited with baited breath for your response.

to the others, it didn’t seem like you’d be backing down. your incredibly tight grip around wooyoung’s throat never loosened and your gun remained in the same place, finger lightly pressed against the trigger. it felt like any second now that their friend’s blood and brains were going to decorate your floors and walls.

but that’s when wooyoung saw it.

he saw the way your body tensed up immediately at hongjoong’s words and how the look on your face began to falter. he saw how the look in your eyes changed from pure anger to regret or something awfully close to it. and he definitely saw how you were contemplating hongjoong’s words and perhaps your actions, too altogether.

and even though he could hardly breathe and tears were forming in his eyes at the thought of being so close to death, wooyoung knew.

and you knew that he knew.

you held his gaze for a few seconds longer before you released him from your grip. wooyoung immediately fell to floor coughing and trying to take in deep breaths. hongjoong immediately rushed over to make sure that he was okay as mingi, yunho, and jongho breathed out a sigh of relief. mingi glanced over at san who had been watching the entire time from a mere few feet away.

he stood there frozen in place, eyes never leaving your form and mingi suddenly found himself feeling bad for the man. in just two hours, his life had been turned completely upside down and he almost witnessed someone dying in front of him. mingi then briefly wondered what his fate was going to be. he secretly hoped that he would live to see another day.

just as he began to move towards san, you grabbed him by his wrist and stopped him.

in a low tone, you said, “i’ll arrange for seonghwa to take san home. the four of you are going to stay here tonight. we’re not done yet.”

you let his wrist go then stepped past him and muttered something in yeosang’s ear. he nodded before you placed the gun back in his hand and disappeared down the hallway, presumably back to your room.

mingi let out a breath that he didn’t know he was holding before he made his way over to san.

“hey,” he said, snapping san out of his thoughts. “it looks like you can go home now. someone is going to come and get you.”

san blinked incredulously. “someone’s taking me home? i can go home?”

mingi nodded in response.

relieved, san blew out a breath and rubbed his hands over his face. seeing that they were still bound together, mingi began to untie the rope. it took no longer than ten seconds to do so since the knot wasn’t tied too tightly.

“so,” san said as he rubbed at his wrists. “does this mean that she won’t kill me? or is someone going to finish the job later on?”

mingi awkwardly rubbed the side of his neck, unsure of what to say. “i don’t know. if she didn’t kill wooyoung then… maybe she won’t kill you either.”

“good. it’d be a damn shame if i died before we could go on our date.”

mingi looked at san in disbelief. there’s no way that he heard that right.

did he?

“i’m sorry, what? what do you mean by dat–“

“i think that your boss is hot,” san said rather bluntly. “and even though she scares the fuck out of me and nearly killed someone, i have to admit that a part of me liked seeing her like that.”

“you liked seeing her… like that? you do know that you were her next target, right?”

“yeah, but now i’m not. which means that i can ask her out. do you know what places she likes going to by any chance?”

“you can’t afford them anyways so it makes no sense telling you. but, are you– you’re being serious right now? you want to date her? after all of that?”

“yes.”

“your positive? absolutely sure?”

“yes. of course i am.”

“jesus fucking christ…” mingi mumbled before he groaned out loud.

he did not get paid enough for this shit.

(that was a lie. he gets paid more than enough actually).

“san? let’s go!” mingi heard seonghwa call out from across the room. he briefly turned around to give the older man a smile, which he returned, before turning back to san.

san gave mingi a smile before he leaned in and said, “i’ll leave my number with seonghwa is it? yeah. text me her number and stuff when you get the chance to.”

“are you fucking stu–“ mingi began to ask, but his words fell on deaf ears as san walked away from him.

he watched as the two men exchanged a few words before they walked towards the elevator together. mingi couldn’t help but crack a smile. san was bold. way too bold for his own good, but he had to admit that it was impressive to see.

and in some weird way, he wanted to see how things would play out. a part of him felt like it was going to end horribly, but the other part of him felt like maybe some good could come out of the situation.

“good luck, san…” mingi mumbled to himself. “you’re gonna need it.”

⭑ ⭑ ⭑ ⭑

TWO WEEKS LATER

“i’ll see you tomorrow!” san called out to his coworker.

pushing through the bookstore’s double glass doors, san breathed in the crisp spring air. his shift was finally over and he couldn’t be any happier. as he fished his car keys out of his pocket, he went through his notifications that had piled up throughout the day.

as he swiped away a few emails and promotional offers from one of the many food apps that he had, his phone buzzed with a new text notification. he glanced at the message and tilted his head in confusion at the mysterious person’s number written in bold letters followed by a hey.

he hummed and opened the notification before he started to type out a response. a new message came in a few seconds later, this time with a number and a name attached.

04-xxxx-xxxx

hey

04-xxxx-xxxx

i still think that it’s a bad idea but my boss’s number is 01-xxxx-xxxx. oh and this is mingi btw

san

how do i know that you aren’t setting me up?

mingi

you already did that to yourself when you decided to crush on my boss of all people

good luck dummy

try not to die btw. i don’t get paid extra for cleaning up your remains

[lucky-clover-gazette]

kings rising highlights & annotations

chapter 7

edit: there is much better analysis in this follow-up post, although it does build on the stuff i wrote here

indented text is from the book. some quotes have commentary, some do not. some comments are serious, and some are definitely not. most of them will only make sense to people who have read the series. and, like, there are spoilers. so please read the books first if you're interested!

also: part of the reason i'm doing such a close reading is to study cs pacat's style, especially in terms of how she does romance and erotica. there are "craft notes" that might seem weird, like i'm being redundant or restating something rather than analyzing, but those are more things that i want to remember/take away from the writing!

i'm going to tag these longer posts with "sam reads capri" in case anyone wants to read them all at once.

this is a google doc i wrote with overall content warnings for the captive prince series. it's not perfect, but i do think it's important to include.

There were very few problems, the public killings having been good for the soldiers’ morale.

so where are the people like me in this world who would like pass out witnessing that. just too desensitized to care?

The Veretian herald was named Hendric and he had very strong arms, because banners were heavy.

Damen and Laurent were to ride alongside one another. Neither one of them had the better horse.

THEIR HORSES!! BACK TOGETHER DESPITE ALL ODDS!! because they’re definitely the same ones that fell in love during prince's gambit shut up

Damen was taller, but nothing could be done about that, Hendric had said with an impenetrable expression. Hendric, Damen was learning, had something in common with Laurent, in that it was never a simple matter to tell when he was joking.

give laurent a comedically large hammer and he’ll find a way

‘I hope the injured boy was returned to you safely.’ ‘Thank you, he returned with Paschal,’ said Laurent. For a salve? Damen opened his mouth to say, and didn’t.

throwback <3 but kings can’t have inside jokes :(

In the next moment, the horns rang out, triumphant and lonely at the same time, the pure sound absorbed by the sky and the wide open landscape around them.

“triumphant and lonely” nice detail

He remembered exactly how it had looked, and that was why he didn’t recognise it at first: the forest of broken spears was gone, and there were no gouged ruts in the earth, no men face down in the churned mud. Marlas was now a tumble of grass and wildflowers in the blowy, sweet summer weather, shifting back and forth in the gentle air. Here and there an insect droned, a drowsy sound. A dragonfly dipped and darted.

i like this :) we don’t get a lot of love for nature in this series, so i’ll take what i get. especially nice when nature represents healing and the passage of time.

Lining the hall were two dozen slaves.

oh this is going to be a headache. but it’s a headache worth having, because i’ve approached these annotations so far with integrity and fairness, and i refuse to treat this subject any differently. i don’t want to just ignore the things that are more difficult or less fun to unpack in order to get to the fun shipping stuff, i want to analyze them to the best of my ability and feel as comfortable as i possibly can moving forward.

so let’s set up some context:

1) damen has come a long way from his stance on slavery in book 1. he is actively refusing to partake in this expected custom, and finds the institution disturbing and triggering. he has developed a new appreciation for sex with truly consenting (not trained) partners, aka laurent, and can’t really go back. still, his reasons for refraining here are almost entirely based on his evolving sense of morality, not really relating to his relationship with laurent at all. for more on that moral evolution, see my analysis in chapter 4. further proof of this Really Mattering to damen is the fact that by not taking slaves, he is losing points with his own people. another great hint of his development as a king, making his own authoritative decisions rather than upholding tradition.

2) laurent does not like slavery. he does not think it is morally correct, and has made many jabs at damen throughout the series for disagreeing. he is disturbed by idea of people who have been groomed into relinquishing their own free will. if put in the situation of damen in book 1, laurent would not have been nearly as compliant or allowing—honestly, he probably would have tried to kill his master, and failing that, kill himself.

HOWEVER. vere does not do slavery. slavery had never been a relevant issue to laurent, at least until he was gifted a slave of his own and was made to deal with them in negotiations with patras. slavery is a thing other countries do, to laurent, and his current objective is make nice with a country that keeps slaves. therefore, he knows that his only real option is to keep the appearance of partaking in the custom, even if damen can get away with refusal. and i think we can safely assume that in laurent’s vere, there will be no slavery, even if he’s taking up the appearance of a slave owner now. additionally, i think we can also assume that there will be reform of the country’s pet system, which is an issue much more relevant to laurent’s lived experience.

if the stuff with laurent and slaves here was simply performative and un-indulgent, i wouldn’t need to be writing anything more here. but it is, as it is, one of the few things in the series that makes me feel very conflicted (see also: the garden scene in book 1). because while it’s true that laurent doesn’t actually use isander as a sex slave, and does have this kind of passive disdain for slavery, he does use isander in another way. he uses isander, a non-consenting brainwashed slave, as a way to make damen, who has never actually been a slave, jealous. this is an abuse of power that directly conflicts with laurent’s stated and assumed values regarding free will and individual personhood. we’ve seen things like this before, in arles, but laurent had known that damen was a prince and not a slave the entire time. but isander is a victim of this system—even if isander himself doesn’t know that, laurent damn well does. and laurent historically is someone who advocates for victims. so the fact that his morals here are being set aside in favor of a petty gesture against damen, is… disappointing. everything i said in chapter 3/4 about laurent’s mean girl era still stands: he knows he’s being shitty, and he’s doing it because he doesn’t want to be vulnerable and insecure. better to be a villain than a victim, etc. but laurent being a villain to damen, who laurent knows is perfectly capable of defending himself, is distinctly different from laurent parading out isander the slave just to hurt damen’s feelings.

it’s wrong for the obvious moral reasons, which laurent perfectly understands in the abstract. but it’s not a hill he’s going to die on here, and that’s not just because of the political advantage. this is 100% about personal shit with damen too. and sorry laurent, but slavery does not stop being wrong when it’s useful in creating drama with your ex. in fact, indulging in it for that reason specifically trivializes all of the legitimate problems with the practice. it makes laurent a hypocrite and it crosses a line, in terms of his mean girl schtick. i just want to make that clear—that there is very much a difference between laurent just being kinda cunty to damen in general, and specifically using a slave as tool in that cuntiness.

laurent is, and always has been, a morally complex and often hypocritical character. he has done things that have made me feel uncomfortable to read, like the way he treats damen in the garden scene. and that’s okay, and it doesn’t make him a bad character, or even a bad person. and to be fair, he isn’t doing any practical harm here—if he hadn’t chosen isander to kinda just vaguely flirt with in public and then leave alone in private, someone else probably would have done far worse. and that is an easy cop-out, and it’s not wrong. but still.

the problem isn’t with laurent's actions here, necessarily, but the principle. which is usually what laurent himself cares about the most, as he often values the ends above the means. politics aside, i think that laurent would readily admit post-mean girl era that the ends of making damen jealous did not, and should not, justify the means of using another human being who does not possess free will. maybe he even does that in the text, eventually, and i’ve forgotten.

(also, let’s not forget that isander may have been trained to not have his own feelings, but definitely still has them, because he’s a human being. and it probably makes him feel pretty bad to be chosen and then ignored by laurent. not that it should, because the entire thing is super fucked up, but it’s what he’s been groomed to believe. like, i did just want to throw that in somewhere, even though it’s obviously predicated on brainwashing and a lack of free will. it’s still what he’s feeling, and his feelings matter. just as much as damen’s or laurent’s.)

basically: laurent is failing to be honorable in his usage of isander, even if he’s not using isander as a sex slave as intended. his abstract values about the wrongness of slavery take a back seat to the political and interpersonal advantage of not only passively partaking in the custom, but actively using it to make damen jealous. even if laurent needs to pretend to take a slave to be politically accepted, he does not need to do All That. and honestly, with laurent’s ability to convince and command a crowd, i think we all know deep down that if he didn’t at least want to do this at least a little bit, just to piss damen off, he would find a way out of it. and that is a reality of laurent’s characterization here that i have to deal with, similar to his actions in the garden scene.

and then there’s the other thing that laurent's "performance" with isander has in common with the garden scene:

it’s hot. it’s wrong, and hypocritical, and could have been done in a way that would better suit my personal tastes, but yes, it’s hot. and on top of that, it’s also VERY funny. laurent’s performance, damen’s reactions, and isander’s obliviousness are all very, very funny. and i do want to be able to enjoy them for the petty gestures they are, and joke about them, without constantly having to throw in a “but also this is bad.” so doing this initial disclaimer feels like a happy medium to me, where i’m not ignoring the complexity of the situation entirely, but i’m also conceding that it’s not necessarily meant to be taken seriously, and it’s ultimately written for the reader to enjoy. like, don’t get me wrong, most of the slavery stuff in this series has NOT been written for the reader’s enjoyment—the values here are very clear, especially in damen’s arc—but there are still some indulgent moments. and it is fiction. and these characters aren’t perfect, nor did they create the culture of the kingdoms that they’re about to rule. and they do ultimately change the things that they, and we the reader, know are wrong.

but just like with the garden scene, i can’t quite get myself to write “so it’s totally fine to just have fun with the whole slavery thing” as a conclusion. and honestly, i feel pretty okay about that hesitancy. when i make jokes about this subject in this specific context (laurent and isander), i don’t want it to be forgotten that the subject itself (slavery) is still entirely serious. so instead, i’ll say:

this is fun because manipulative petty lamen mind games are fun. this is hot because manipulative petty lamen mind games are hot. this is somewhat intended as a backhanded insult and display of moral superiority—laurent showing damen how awful he and his culture appear to non-slave owners—but that moral superiority ultimately falls short due to laurent’s hypocritical use of a slave to make damen jealous. all of those separate pieces of analysis are true to the overall experience of reading and interpreting these scenes. it’s a mixed bag, we know it’s a mixed bag, laurent knows it’s a mixed bag, and damen knows it’s a mixed bag. the only relevant person who doesn’t know it’s a mixed bag is isander, because he’s a slave and isn’t allowed to think for himself, and that fucking sucks.

Isander was olive-skinned and lithe as a fawn, with dark hair and eyes: Akielon colouring. He shared that with Nikandros; with Damen.

yeah i’m sure that’s just a coincidence

Male, either in deference to Veretian customs, or to suit Laurent’s assumed preferences.

akielon slave owners, trying to assess laurent’s preferences:

(can you tell my heart still isn’t fully in the humor here…)

Nikandros would never offer royalty anything less than a slave’s First Night.

god, the first night thing is fucked up. in general, i love the lack of like… uh… traditionally conservative (read: christian) attitudes about sex in capri, so the few similarities especially give me the ick. i haven’t read or annotated the erasmus short story yet, but i know it’s going to piss me off too. basically, the closer we get to the handmaid’s tale, the more i want to read complicit characters dying horrifically on the page. nikandros and the other akielons are skirting by for now with the plausible deniability they have re: fully understanding how slaves are trained, but they’re on thin fucking ice.

also, lighter side question, what’s the recommended reading order for the short stories?

sweet grace of a palace slave

gag

‘I like that one,’ said Laurent.

>:(

‘Slaves are trained in the arts of pleasure, but they do not lie with another until their First Night,’ Kolnas said. ‘Here we use the same strict, classical training that is used in the royal palace. Skills are learned through instruction, and practised with indirect methods. The slave remains wholly untouched, kept pure for the first use of the Exalted.’

imagine if real-life cultural customs were built around grooming a certain group of people to be sexually submissive and modest as a thinly-veiled way to control their sexuality and ensure that they are attached to dominant societal figures from a young age without the education or free will to consider themselves actual human beings, so they can unquestioningly spend their entire lives as sex machines and domestic servants defined entirely by their responsibility to the family, and then they die and their headstone identifies them by their status as a possession of their dominant partner. wouldn’t that be fucked up

‘I never did learn how to command a bed slave,’ said Laurent. ‘Teach me.’

guys i wish i could find this hot or funny but now i’m just mad about disturbing stuff in real life that i can’t analyze out of existence. i’m taking a break and eating a chocolate strawberry greek yogurt popsicle and then i’ll try to refocus on the funny toxic gay people

‘They cannot speak Veretian, Your Highness,’ Kolnas explained. ‘In the Akielon language, using the plain form of address is appropriate. To command any act of service is to honour a slave. The more personal the service, the greater the honour.’ ‘Really? Come here,’ said Laurent.

laurent go sit in the corner.

Laurent extended the tip of his boot. ‘Kiss it,’ he said. His eyes were on Damen.

god this is so good. i hate it so much.

to be fair, there is no way to do this that would be more effective than laurent using a slave. because, y’know, damen was his “slave.” it wouldn’t hit the same with some random non-slave guy. laurent wants to fuck with damen’s head, and part of that is making him miss something he most certainly should not be missing. laurent is also fucking with my head, because this gesture is so conflictingly wrong and compelling, a word which in this case means "something i’m embarrassed/ashamed to say that i find hot."

‘Good boy,’ said Laurent, reaching down to pet Isander’s dark curls, while Isander’s eyes closed and he flushed over.

(easy joke to make, but we’re all probably thinking it) damen:

(also, this being the only “good boy” in the entire series is just diabolical. but i get why it is, because i think it might not be the only one—and if it isn’t the only one, that means the regent says it at some point, and that’s exactly why it’s never used in a lamen sex scene.)

Kolnas preened, pleased that his selection was appreciated. Damen could see that the fort’s household around them was also pleased, having gone to great lengths to make Laurent feel welcome. They had considered with intense thoughtfulness Veretian culture and Veretian practices.

i sense some slight snarkiness here—not even from damen, but from the narrative itself. there’s palpable irony in the “great lengths” and “thoughtfulness” of akielions considering veretian culture while presenting laurent with slaves, all while veretian culture doesn’t have slavery.

It was pointless. There were two dozen slaves here, while the number of times Laurent had had sex in his life could probably be counted on one hand. Laurent was just going to be dragging twenty-four young men back to his rooms to sit around doing nothing. They wouldn’t even be able to unlace Veretian clothing.

according to damen:

this is stupid.

laurent is, in all ways but physical, a loser virgin.

he’s going to set out board games for those sex slaves. he’s going to throw them a pizza party. he’s going to answer emails the entire time.

they don’t even know how to unlace laurent’s clothing like i do.

this is stupid.

‘Can he also serve me in the baths?’ said Laurent.

CUNT.

‘And at the feast for the bannermen this evening when they give their pledge, if that pleases you, Your Highness,’ said Kolnas. ‘It pleases me,’ said Laurent.

damen is about to throw up on the floor

Cloth wound around his waist and over his shoulder, the sort of ceremonial Akielon garb that you could unreel from a person by taking hold of one end and pulling while they rotated.

looney toons-ass imagery

He could feel their discomfort, their need to debase themselves; this sort of proximity to royalty permitted only the extreme submissiveness of slaves.

thank you damen for being the only normal person here. you've come a long way.

“discomfort, their need to debase themselves” is something book 1 damen would have found adorable and charming. he definitely wouldn’t have worded it like this, back then.

“this sort of proximity to royalty permitted only the extreme submissiveness of slaves” building on the damen vs. kingship theme, he thinks he can’t have real love or intimacy or vulnerability if he’s a king. he can’t truly be paired with an equal, because he needs to be exalted.

He had sent away the slaves.

damen you’re the only one i’m not at mad at in this chapter. actually i liked the funny banner guy, we’re chill too. and isander is just trying his best

Laurent, he knew, was rooming in the adjoining suite, separated from him by a single wall. Damen was in the King’s chambers, which any lord who built a fort installed, in the hope the King would stop there. But even the former lord of Marlas’s optimism had not stretched to the idea that the heads of two royal families would visit simultaneously. To preserve their arrangements of scrupulous equality, Laurent was in the Queen’s chambers, beyond that wall.

i’m getting so much whiplash from this chapter like yeah this is funny and cute but also is the slavery stuff just normal to people like i’m aware the series started from a specific subculture and kink and body of literary work, so i guess i’m the weird one and the outsider here for being so distracted??

Isander was probably tending him, gamely doing his best with the laces. He would have to unhook the lacings on the back of the neck of Laurent’s riding leathers before drawing them through their eyelets. Or Laurent had taken Isander into the baths, to be undressed by him there. Isander would be flushed with pride at being chosen for the task. Attend me. Damen felt his hands curl into fists.

i don’t think i need to point out in a note, every single time, that damen being jealous of isander is funny and his possessiveness of laurent is hot. but i will still highlight the passages where it happens.

He turned his mind to political matters.

good call buddy, you and i are going to get through this chapter together

Men and women reclined on couches

(said apprehensively, given the overall themes of this chapter) ...women?

Makedon leaned, selecting a slice of peeled orange. Pallas, the handsome officer-champion, reclined with the easy posture that spoke to his aristocratic blood. Straton had hitched his skirts up and drawn his legs onto the couch, crossing them at the ankles. Everyone whom rank or office entitled to be here was assembled, and with every northerner of standing gathered to give their pledge, the hall was packed full. The Veretians present were mostly vertical, standing awkwardly in small groups, one or two perched gingerly on the edge of a seat.

There was no trumpet flourish or herald’s announcement, as there would have been in Vere.

okay i didn’t realize there was a trumpet flourish in vere. that is very funny in retrospect. a trumpet is not the instrument i’d choose to announce laurent’s arrival. in arles especially, i personally think that a halloween sfx cd would have been much more appropriate

Laurent didn’t rise. He wasn’t required to. He just watched from his reclining couch, as the hall prostrated itself. He had cultivated an elegant sprawl, with his arm draped over his couch back, and his leg drawn up, revealing the arc of an exquisitely clad thigh. His fingers dangled. Silk rucked around his knee.

laurent lean #14. kings leaning.

Isander was prostrated, an inch from Laurent’s casually draped fingertips, his lithe body bare. He wore a brief garment like a Vaskian man’s cloth. His collar fit him like a second skin. Laurent sat relaxed, every line of his body arranged tastefully against the couch. Damen made himself stroll forward through the silence. Their twin couches were next to each other. ‘Brother,’ Laurent said, pleasantly.

no comment

The eyes of everyone in the hall were on him. He felt their gazes, their underfed curiosity. He heard the murmurs—it really is him, Damianos, alive and here—accompanied by the brazen looks, looking at him, looking at the gold cuff on his wrist, looking at Laurent in his Veretian clothes like an exotic ornament—so that is the Veretian Prince. And beneath that the speculation that was never spoken aloud.

at least one akielon politics rpf truther is losing their mind rn. we have gaylor, this world has gaymianos

Laurent was scrupulously correct in the face of it, his behaviour immaculate, even his use of the slave was an act of unimpeachable etiquette. In Akielos it pleased the host for a guest to make use of his hospitality. And it pleased the Akielon people for their royal family to take slaves, a sign of virility and power, and a cause of great pride.

narrows my eyes

Barieus stepped forward. ‘I want assurances that Vere does not hold undue influence over Akielos.’ Undue influence. ‘Speak plainly.’ ‘They say the Prince of Vere is your lover.’

found the gaymianos truther

‘Who we take to our bed is not your concern.’

well i mean if you’re using the royal “we” to represent the kingdom, then yeah… it kinda is?

‘Shall I tell them what really happened between us? They want to know,’ Laurent said. Laurent began to unlace the cuff of his sleeve, drawing the ties through the eyelets, then opening the fabric to expose the fine underside of his wrist—and then the unmistakable gold of the slave cuff.

Laurent leaned his wrist elegantly on the curved arm of the couch, the open sleeve reminiscent of a delicate open shirt collar, its laces trailing. ‘Do I have the question clear?’ said Laurent, speaking in Akielon. ‘You are asking if I lay with the man who killed my own brother?’ Laurent wore the slave cuff with utter disregard. He had no owner, the aristocratic arrogance of his posture said that. Laurent had always possessed an essential quality of the untouchable. He cultivated a faultless grace on the reclining couch, his chiselled profile and marble-chip eyes those of a statue. The idea that he would let anyone fuck him was impossible.

and damen is so into it. love love love the contrast with the description of slaves in this chapter. damen doesn’t want them, he wants laurent. he sees laurent as a complete and compelling person. there is honor in laurent’s performative submission—wearing the cuff—because damen respects laurent’s personhood. but he’s no longer able to see the submission of slaves as honorable, because he knows they’re fucking slaves who have been robbed of their personhood entirely.

Barieus said, ‘A man would have to be ice-cold to sleep with his brother’s killer.’ ‘Then you have your answer,’ said Laurent. There was a silence, in which Laurent’s gaze held that of Barieus. ‘Yes, Exalted.’ Barieus bowed his head, and unconsciously used the Akielon Exalted, rather than the Veretian titles Highness or Majesty.

a vine boom echoed through the court

‘Well, Barieus?’ said Damen. Barieus knelt two steps before the dais. ‘I will pledge. I see that the Prince of Vere stands with you. It’s right that we swear to you here, on the site of your greatest victory.’

“he is simply too cunty for us to deny his authority.”

Slaves brought the food. Squires served Damen, since he had made his preferences clear. It was an awkward arrangement that displeased everyone in the hall.

YES DAMEN!

Isander was utterly in love with his master. He strove continuously to do well, selecting each delicacy for Laurent to sample, bringing him only the best, in small, shallow dishes, refreshing the water bowl for Laurent to clean his fingers. He did it all with perfect form, discreetly attentive, and never drawing attention to himself. His eyelashes drew attention to themselves. Damen made himself look elsewhere.

but that’s not real love, and damen knows it. laurent knows it too. and damen did it way better in nesson-elroy

Laurent said, ‘Play The Fall of Inachtos,’ and a murmur of approval passed over the hall. Kolnas, the Keeper of Slaves, congratulated Laurent on his knowledge of Akielon epics. ‘It’s one of your favourites, isn’t it?’ said Laurent, transferring his gaze to Damen.

diabolical. need this energy for the lamen divorce playlists (they each have their own)

He had always liked the depiction of Akielons cutting down their enemies, as Nisos rode out to kill Inachtos, and take his walled city. He didn’t want to hear it now.

yayyy character development

It was Loyse and not Guion that Jord was approaching. She gave him a cursory look. ‘Yes?’ There was an awkward pause. ‘I just wanted to say . . . that I’m sorry for your loss. Your son was a good fighter.’ ‘Thank you, soldier.’ She gave him the token attention a lady might give to any servant, and turned back to her conversation with her husband.

loyse hiiiiiii loyse (said with appropriate sadness for her current state of grief)

Jord gazed at him for a long moment, then indicated Laurent with his chin. ‘I’m glad you two are friends,’ said Jord.

jord always knows exactly when to show up and make ill-timed commentary on damen and laurent's relationship

‘I thought when he found out about you, he’d swear revenge,’ said Jord. ‘He knew all along,’ said Damen. ‘It’s good that you could trust each other,’ said Jord. And then: ‘I think before you came, he didn’t really trust anyone.’ Damen said, ‘He didn’t.’

also isn’t it like SUPER awkward for jord to be around guion and loyse right now

Isander was bringing Laurent a sprig of grapes in a small dish. Laurent said something approving, and gestured for Isander to join him on the reclining couch. Isander glowed, shyly besotted. As Damen watched, Isander picked a single grape from the sprig, and lifted it to Laurent’s lips. Laurent leaned in. He twined a finger around a curl of Isander’s hair and allowed himself to be fed, grape by grape, a prince with a new favourite.

damen is about to start scratching the walls like a cat confronted with a closed door

He lifted the wine blindly. The cup was empty. Straton wasn’t the only Akielon departing with a slave; men and women throughout the hall were availing themselves. The wine, and the slaves enacting the battle were breaking down inhibitions. Akielon voices grew loud, emboldened by wine.

between the heavy drinking and sex practices, the akielon court actually sounds like my living hell. and we haven’t even gotten to the naked sports chapter yet

Laurent leaned in further to murmur something intimately into Isander’s ear, and then, as the recitation reached its climax, the clash of swords like the hammering in his chest, Damen saw Laurent tap Isander’s shoulder, and rise. I’d wager you never thought a prince could be jealous of a slave. At this moment I’d trade places with you in a heartbeat. Torveld’s words. He said, ‘Excuse me.’

The entire court around him rose as he pushed up from his couch-throne.

“couch-throne”

Trying to follow Laurent out, he got tangled in ceremony, the hall a stifling press of bodies and noise, and, as a blond head disappeared towards the doorway, he was stopped by party after party blocking his path.

okay i’m so curious what he’s meaning to do when he catches up to laurent. yell at him? yell at isander? throw up?

He ought to have brought a slave of his own, then the crowd would have melted away, understanding: the King wished privacy.

i am begging the protagonists of this book to stop using human people as objects. again maybe that’s just a me problem, this isn’t my usual genre and the akielon slavery system clearly doesn’t align with my kink sensibilities, but COME ON

The corridor was empty when he strode out into it. His heart was pounding. He turned the first corner into a section of the passage, half expecting to catch Laurent’s retreating figure. Instead, he saw a stark, empty arch with all its Veretian lattice stripped away. Under the arch was Isander, standing with his fawn eyes, looking confused and abandoned. His confusion was such that for a moment he just stared at Damen with wide eyes before he seemed to understand what was happening, and folded to the floor, forehead to the stone. Damen said, ‘Where is he?’ Isander was well trained, even if nothing was happening as he had expected tonight; and even if, rather mortifyingly, he was being asked to report this fact to his King. ‘His Highness of Vere has gone for a ride.’

well at least if “going on a ride” is laurent code for “feeling morally and emotionally troubled,” that’s… less disappointing, i guess.

also, i do realize that this is the place where laurent’s brother was killed, currently taken over by the nation that orchestrated and benefitted from his death. so there’s probably a twisted vindication in learning exactly how fucked up their culture is (asking about the first night, etc), and getting whatever kind of enjoyment out of the whole situation he can (pissing off damen). but there still had to be a crash, and as soon as laurent was excused from his duties he dipped to deal with it alone.

‘At the stables a handler might know his destination. This slave can inquire.’

i caaaaaan’t stand the way they’re denied use of personal pronouns

Closer; the approach was difficult because it was sharp with memory. Here was the place where their left flank had fallen. Here was the place where he had ordered men to attack the lines that would not fall, the starburst banner that did not falter. Here was the place where he had killed the last of the Prince’s Guard, and come face to face with Auguste. He dismounted from his horse, looping its reins over the cracked stone column of an overgrown pillar. The landscape was old, and the pieces of stone were old; and he remembered this place, remembered the torn soil and the desperation of the fight. Clearing a last jut of stone, he saw the curve of a shoulder in the moonlight, the white of a loose shirt, his outer garments stripped, all wrists and exposed throat. Laurent was sitting on a stone outcrop. His jacket was discarded uncharacteristically. He was sitting on it.

this is a beautifully set scene.

A stone slid under his heel. Laurent turned. For a moment, Laurent looked at him wide-eyed, young, and then the look in his eyes changed, as though the universe had fulfilled an ineluctable promise. ‘Oh,’ he said, ‘perfect.’

a moment of surprise and vulnerability, and then practiced cool again. onto Some More Bullshit, i guess

this isn’t the chapter to really tackle this, but i will eventually write a long essay about how laurent goes through his own mini character growth arc, completely off the page, during the lamen divorce era. it’s just that damen has custody of the reader, so we don’t get to see it—only hints, like this moment here. laurent must have had a lot on his mind, too, ever since their last heated conversation. i have some ideas about what that “a lot” might be, but again, i don’t think i’ve gotten quite enough from laurent yet to really start forming a conclusion.

Damen said, ‘I thought you might want—’ ‘Want?’ ‘A friend,’ said Damen. He used Jord’s word. His chest felt tight. ‘If you’d prefer me to leave, I will.’ ‘Why cavil?’ said Laurent. ‘Let’s fuck.’

ON YOUR BROTHER’S FIGURATIVE GRAVE WITH HIS MURDERER????

‘That isn’t what I meant.’ ‘It might not be what you meant, but it’s what you want.’ Laurent said, ‘You want to fuck me.’ Anyone else would have been drunk. Laurent was dangerously sober.

yeah, no, he’s definitely being going through Some Shit on his own. lots of self-loathing, especially due to the fact that he can’t hate damen as much as he knows he should. yearning, more self-loathing because of that yearning. companionship withdrawals, a return to isolation. a revived sense of grief for his brother, and nicaise, and damen (not damianos) and even his relationship with his uncle, who he hadn’t thought would be capable of trying to kill him. hating himself and blaming himself and regretting things he’s done to push people away. just an all-around bad time, but a necessary time of reflection that he needs to experience on his own. damen can’t just swoop in and fix laurent, laurent has to decide that he’s worth saving first. he’s not there yet, clearly, assuming that damen only wants him as a sexual object. whiiiiich was probably why he went so hard on the eroticism with isander easlier, it was an easy victory to get damen hot and bothered. a game he could win, among the many other games he knows he’s losing—especially the ones against himself.

i’ll put together something more coherent before the divorce era ends. tbh, i kinda think this scene should have been a separate chapter, because there is some pretty massive whiplash here. although maybe not, maybe the buildup of emotional and sexual tension was the point. yeah, it was. the slavery stuff just made it more frustrating to read. never mind.

‘You’ve been thinking about it since Ravenel. Since Nesson.’ He knew this mood. He should have expected it. He made himself say the words. ‘I came because I thought you might want to talk.’ ‘Not particularly.’

it almost sounds like laurent played himself, for the millionth time, by getting himself worked up with isander when he just really wanted damen

He said, ‘About your brother.’ ‘I never fucked my brother,’ said Laurent, with a strange edge to the words. ‘That is incest.’ They were standing in the place where his brother had died. With a disorientating sensation Damen realised they weren’t going to talk about that. They were going to talk about this.

"yes, honey..."

‘You’re right,’ said Damen. ‘I’ve been thinking about it since Ravenel. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it.’ ‘Why?’ said Laurent. ‘Was I that good?’ ‘No. You fucked like a virgin,’ said Damen,

deserved

‘half the time. The rest of the time—’ ‘Like I knew what to do?’ ‘Like you knew what you were used to.’ He saw the words impact. Laurent swayed, like he’d been dealt a blow. Laurent said, ‘I’m not certain I can take your particular brand of honesty just at the moment.’

oh well this is particularly horrifying with [redacted] context. also i think the quote “i’m not certain i can take your particular brand of honesty just at the moment” says A LOT about how laurent has always viewed damen, for better or for worse. laurent can count on damen to tell him what he needs to hear, not what he wants to hear. so it makes sense that he’s been avoiding damen lately, because laurent is going through his own crisis of personal reflection

Damen said, ‘I don’t prefer sophistication in bed, if you were wondering.’ ‘That’s right,’ said Laurent. ‘You like it simple.’ All the breath left his throat. He stood, stripped, unready for it. Will you use even that against me? he wanted to say, and didn’t. Laurent’s breathing was shallow too, holding his ground.

is “that” just laurent making fun of the way damen is earnest in bed? seems like an overreaction from damen if that's the case, so it’s probably something else i’m missing. maybe laurent is accusing damen of keeping the secret of his identity, even when they fucked, to make things simpler between them? that would support my previous theory that laurent is convinced that damen wouldn’t want him how he really is, as damen really is, with all the complications between them. or it’s a dig about auguste somehow, and i just can’t figure out how it connects.

‘He died well,’ Damen made himself say. ‘He fought better than any man I’ve known. It was a fair fight, and he felt no pain. The end was quick.’

like i said—what laurent needs to hear, not what he wants to hear. even if damen thinks that it’s going to make laurent hate him more, he still has the integrity to say it.

‘You sent your men out to look for me too?’ said Laurent, his mouth twisting. ‘No,’ said Damen, and pushed Laurent hard out of sight, into the shelter of one of the huge, crumbling blocks of stone. In the next second, the troop was on them, at least two hundred men, so that the air was thick with the passage of horses. Damen pressed Laurent firmly into the rock, and held him in place with his body. The riders didn’t slow, even on this uncertain ground in the dark, and any man in their path would be trampled, tumbled, kicked from hoof to hoof. Discovery was a real threat, the rock cool under his palms, the dark shuddering with the pounding of hooves and heavy lethal horseflesh. He could feel Laurent against him, the barely contained tension, adrenalin mixed with his dislike of the proximity, the urge in him to prise himself out and away, stifled by necessity.

throwback <3 i think this is very intentionally placed in this conversation, as a reminder that they are the same people they were in prince’s gambit

‘I know you’re not cold,’ said Damen. ‘You weren’t cold when you ordered me tied to the post. You weren’t cold when you pushed me down on your bed.’

more true things laurent does not want to hear right now! also i like the use of warmth, as the opposite of cold, to signify both vengeful rage and romantic/sexual passion. two sides of the same coin

‘A fair fight?’ said Laurent, turning back to him. ‘No fight’s ever fair. Someone’s always stronger.’

rewinding to their previous argument. aren’t they both tired? i’m tired.

[makeyoumine69]

Destroy Me

◥ PAIRING: Patrick Bateman x Innocent!Fem!Reader

◥ SUMMARY: Your first interactions with Mr. Bateman, your potential owner, made you sure that he's a sick dangerous man.

◥ WARNINGS: 18+/ NSFW │dark content, non-consensual touching, kidnapping, misogyny, human trafficking, Patrick grabbing a handful of reader's p*ssy, teasing, nipple play, toxic and obsessive behaviour, swearing, humiliation, dirty talk, pet names.

◥ WORDCOUNT: 2k

◥ A/N: The dark vibes of Mr. Kitty's songs seem like paradise to me. I hope you like this chapter, thank you for the reading! Big thanks to my dear @lissasharp for the help!💞

◥ SONG REC: Mr.Kitty - Destroy Me🖤

◥ LINKS: [Shadow Lady Masterlist⛓] [Main Masterlist]

A dark desperation occupied your mind, not giving you even a chance to think about any viable options to run away from this place.

With your hands pressed against your chest, you heard the door closed behind your back, that sound remained in your head for a long time. Shaking like a leaf, you were following the ‘boss-lady’, moving through the barely lit corridor to the place where that awful man was waiting for you.

“Now, listen here, (Y/N),” she paused near the big wooden door. Her face looked so tense, when she turned to you and added: “If you don’t want to get into trouble, you better behave yourself.”

“Or what?” you questioned, curling your fingers into a fist. “You will kill me like a dog?”

The boss-lady just giggled in response, and there was something really evil in the way she did it. Slowly, she opened the door before you; the dark smirk never left her face. “Come on, get in.”

With a sharp breath, you made one step into the void, sensing millions of shivers running down your spine, and it was not because of the cold. To your surprise, the room turned out to be a marvelous place, you could even say it was pretty luxurious with all of this expensive furniture and big antique lamps. 

Pulling yourself together, you looked over the people, sitting in the leather armchairs and smoking their cigars. One of them was that ‘customer’, who just bought you, but this thought still couldn't implant within you; it never would. Another guy looked much older compared to the other, his eyes were shamelessly gliding all over your body, and that made you almost cry out in disgust, as you wanted to run away from here more than anything in your life.

“You have a great taste, Mr. Bateman.” The old man asserted, puffing on his cigar and crossing his legs.

“I know,” he replied before taking some papers. “Can’t see any dates though…”

“Don’t worry! These documents are most recent, and the information is beyond relevant! We just used some… Well, a friend of mine did it to avoid any problems with the law…”

“Uh-huh,” Bateman nodded, inhaling the smoke of his expensive cigar. For all this time, he didn’t even glance at you. “If any of these aren't true,” he pointed at the documents as he put them back on the small table between the armchairs. “I think you already know what will happen to all of you. Don’t cha?” Patrick smiled and looked at the man next to him, and then at the boss-lady; she was obviously so scared of him–you could hear her rapid breathing behind your back.

“O-of course, Mr Bateman…”, the old guy swallowed hard, losing his tie a bit and kept blubbering: “But I assure you! We care about our customers, therefore ensure you high-quality service and-”

“I got it,” Bateman cut him off, taking the last sip of his whiskey. Only now, his hazel eyes found your lost ones, and the picture of your frightened face caused his lips to curl into a pleased smirk of satisfaction. “Now, I want to finish things and conclude this transaction.”

“I brought the girl!” The blue-eyed woman suddenly blurted out, and you almost flinched in your place.

“Thank you, but I’m not blind,” Bateman chuckled, turning to the old man once again. “Can everybody just get out of here, please? I don’t want to make my girl embarrassed.”

My girl?

Hugging yourself, you shriveled from these words, expecting nothing but the horrible things, which were going to happen so soon, you didn’t even have time to prepare yourself, but was it even possible to be ready in such a situation?

“I’m sorry, Mr. Bateman,” the guy paused as he was so afraid to say what he was planning to. “But according to our rules we can’t leave you alone to avoid any accidents and-”

“I’m ready to pay half of the price right now,” Bateman almost spit in the old man’s face as he picked up his case to get the money; you’ve never seen such thick wads of cash. “Besides, I don’t want anyone to gawk at her. Is that enough?” Carelessly, Patrick threw a few wads of cash on the table, waiting for the answer.

The boss-lady and the unknown guy looked briefly at each other, before he consented: “All right, but you have limited time-”

“Leave already.” Patrick husked and puffed on the cigar, his lips tensed around it from anger, so you could almost see his white teeth. 

After a while, there were only two of you in the room. 

Trembling, you couldn’t look at anything but the floor, as your heart was beating so fast, it was almost painful.

“What a bunch of stupid dicks,” Bateman laughed abruptly, leaving you completely confused. “Doll… You can’t even imagine how lucky you are… That I’m going to take you out of here. Trust me, this place is worse than hell.”

Did he really expect you to fall on your knees and kiss his feet for his generosity? Arrogant son of a bitch…

“All right, (Y/N). Let's forget the formalities,” Patrick sat himself more comfortable in his armchair, throwing his one leg on another. “Take your clothes off. Let's see what you got.”

You had to clear your throat before speaking, as it felt like your mouth was full of sand: “Excuse me?”

Patrick let out a tired sigh, rubbing the bridge of his perfectly shaped nose. “Do you want me to do it myself?”

“No!” you almost screamed, when you watched him standing from his place. “I’ll do it… Just, don’t touch me, please…”

Saying nothing, he put on that devilish smile again, leaning on the back of his seat, his hands were thrashing around his knees in undisguised anticipation. 

Timidly, your shaking hands reached the clasp of your bra. Before you eventually undid it, you cast a scornful gaze at him, sensing how anger and despair were mixing up in your blood. It seemed like your heart fell down on the ground along with your bra, when you heard his deep exhale.

“Mm-mh, keep going, doll.” His voice definitely got lower on some octaves.

Totally embarrassed, you were trying to convince yourself to do what he ordered, with no reflection or sorrow–your life was in danger, that was the actual point.

With one quick motion, you pulled down your panties, leaving yourself fully exposed in front of that smug bastard, whose eyes now were dark as the midnight sky. But, despite your sudden surge of boldness, your hands were instinctively trying to hide your naked body from his vision, inducing the corners of his lips to twitch in amusement. 

Scoffing haughtily, Patrick shook the glass to make sure it was empty, asserting: “You don’t need to be ashamed in front of me, honey,” Bateman opened his arms expansively and finally smiled with his usual delight. “(Y/N), you belong to me now,” he directed, looking into your scared eyes. “Every little piece of your body belongs to me. So, be an obedient girl and turn around.”

“Just turn around?” Why did you even ask that, damn?

“You can bend over, after you turn around. I want to see what I’m paying for.” All of your insides seemed to tighten like a string and your knees nearly buckled. 

Breathing sharply, you spun around and did what he told you to, with your eyes watering by the second.

“Spread your legs wider,” Patrick pressed his elbows against his knee, leaning on them, as he couldn't stop looking at your luscious unused pussy. When you did so, he claimed: “Such a good girl… Can’t wait to find out how it feels to be inside of this innocent little hole.”

By saying that, Bateman stood up and got closer to you, right when you turned around, so you nearly bumped into his solid frame. 

“A-ahm, Sorry… I…” You froze, with your hands pressed against your breasts and your mound, as you were trying to cover yourself. Goodman, he was so tall and broad, he was towering over your like a fucking skyscraper. 

“It’s okay, Sunshine,” he carefully stroked your cheek, wiping away your tears. “We’ll have a lot of fun together…” slowly, his finger traced down to your clavicle, and then you flinched from the feeling of the soft fingertips, brushing along your cleavage. “And, I promise, I’ll make you happy...”

“Please, d-don't…” you sobbed out loud, when he possessively took your hands away to touch your taut nipple. “S-stop!”

“Such a subtle blossom,” Bateman was about to kiss your lips, but he stopped himself. Instead of it, he pinched your engorged peak, making you moan barely audible. “No one ever touched you like that?”

Breathless, you wanted to grab his hands and push them away, but you were too scared of him being angry. Desperately stifling the upcoming nasty sounds, which were languishing in your chest, you had to sink your nails into your delicate skin almost till the blood. 

Meantime, Patrick seemed not going to stop his ravenous assault on your quivering little body, as he pressed his other palm against your belly, tickling you a bit, making you wince and he couldn't help but snigger in enjoyment. All of your coy reactions were turning him on like nothing else in this cynical corrupted world. 

“Mr. B-Bateman…” shivering under his touch, you felt yourself so abashed by how your body was responding to his caress. “Enough… I… I beg you, ahh-”

A strange, but insufferable blissful sensation hit your mind like a lightning strike, when Bateman reached your sensitive clit, giving it several rubs. With every second, his ministrations were becoming more and more persistent, inducing you to close your eyes and bite your lip to suppress a loud moan from the longing feeling in your lower belly.

“You like it, don’t you?” Patrick asked, watching you struggling with yourself.

“No…” you whimpered, but he only simpered in response, before trapping your blushing nub between his sneaky fingers, rhythmically massaging it. “Aa-aww… Mr. Bate-”

Selfishly, he shushed you with a palm, leaning over to your neck to inhale your sweet scent and lick your touchy skin. And then, Bateman suddenly blabbed:

“What is that?” squinting, he traced a thumb along the artery on your throat. “A scar?”

Vexed, Patrick removed his hand from between your legs and you could finally heave a sigh of relief. “Yes… I've got a couple of scars…”

“Couple?” he issued in a stern voice, looking at you from above. “Who dared to touch such a sweetheart like you-”

“Mr. Bateman, are you done with inspecting?”

You both recoiled from unexpectedness, before he retorted: “Yes, come in.” 

When the door clicked, you watched him concisely sucking up his fingers, which were slightly covered in your juices–that scene made your cheeks inflame with humiliation.

“So… What do you think?” The bitch with blue eyes asked, staring at your naked body absolutely emotionless. 

“I’m not gonna pay twenty-five thousand for her, cause she has several scars,” Bateman stated, strolling away from you to take his cigar. “Let's make a deal. Twenty thousand.”

“Twenty-three-”

“Twenty thousand, that’s my last word.”

For some period, they were looking at each other like two predators before their deadly jump, but then you heard the boss-lady’s lament. “Argh, all right! Twenty thousand…”

“Wonderful,” Patrick exclaimed, opening his case once again and taking out the rest of the money. “That’s all?”

“Yes, Mr. Bateman… I’m glad we negotiated,” right after her words, you saw a group of unknown men, entering the room. Then, one of them handed her a thick folder with some papers. “All information about her is here.”

She came to the table, took the money and put down the folder. Everything that happened next, you didn’t remember, as someone pressed a cloak of fabric to your mouth, making you black out and limp.

“Hey, careful!” Bateman shouted, pointing at your direction with a finger. “Was that necessary?”

“She’s very troublesome, it’s for her own good. Believe me.”

“Wait, I will carry her…” overprotectively, Patrick reached your unconscious body and took you in his arms, before musing: “Don’t worry, Dear. Soon, you will be at home.”

[v3nusxsky]

Hellooo ~ Unsure if you’re still taking requests — if you don’t please just ignore this, but how about sub!Lesso being edged for days/weeks now (punishment for teasing Larissa maybe? 👀) and Larissa finally allows her to come on Valentine’s Day or her birthday? Maybe a little bit of pain play as well to put her in her place? Thank you so much 💞

Stepping into the unknown 18+

*authors note~ sinful souls how I’ve missed you🥹 god I’ve missed writing and posting sm here. I miss my ladies so much!*

Trigger warnings~ sub lesso x dom Larissa x sub r, r has abandonment issues, r is a dancer, depressed lesso, rough punishment (Lesso receiving), pet play (Leo receiving), pain play/impact play flogging (lesso receiving) r is just watching humiliation kink, mentions of struggling to orgasm, temperature play (Leo receives), degrading kink, shoe humping?, nipple clamps, oral (lesso receiving)

Prompt~ see ask^^^

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Meeting up with your boss turned crush was something you couldn’t exactly say you were looking forward to. Yet you had to return work at some point. Stepping into sinful souls you were riddled with anxious knots tugging at your lower stomach as you took in the familiar surroundings. Some of your fellow dancers muttering greetings as they continued the fight for perfection with their appearance. Lesso, despite owning the club, was no where to be seen. Unusual. You couldn’t help the nagging thought that later you, Larissa and the raven haired woman would be in Nevermore. In each other’s company. For the first time since that night. Since she left. Again.

Before you knew it the club was alive with the vibrations bouncing off the walls, dancers in skimpy costumes and customers already starting their night. Business. Tips. And still no boss. Odd. With a quick shot of liquid courage you set off to the stage for your first dance. The rhythmic beats of your first song easily providing the headspace you needed.

“Girls, we run this motha (yeah!)

Who run the world? Girls!”

The intro of the song gaining a few new points of attention as the beat continued its strong presence allowing you to give a firey strong performance. You’d be lying if you said that you hated dancing to Beyonće but this song was a fan favourite so really you’d be a fool to not lean into it.

“This goes out to all my girls

That's in the club rocking the latest

Who will buy it for themselves and get more money later”

Making sure to add an extra sway to your hips as you rounded the stage, a swish of your hair and making sure to pop your hips in time to the beat. The crowd clearly now absolutely enchanted by how well you kept the fast pace all while looking every bit as sexual and sensual as you desired.

“This goes out to all the women getting it in, you on your grind

To all the men that respect what I do, please accept my shine

Boy, you know you love it

How we smart enough to make these millions

Strong enough to bear the children (children)

Then get back to business

Cheers erupted when the beat died out and tips began to get tossed on the stages, every wolf whistle only furled your confidence to get through the night. No matter what occurred you knew either way you’d go home to Larissa. Clearly your customers still wanted to watch you dance even if your boss left you in your most vulnerable moments. You didn’t need her validation and you most definitely didn’t need the hurt that came with Lesso.

Larissa had intended to relax while you worked your shift at sinful souls, before your guest arrived. However, a certain raven haired lady had other plans. Arriving at Nevermore was simply nothing short of nerve reaching for Lesso. She knew she should be at the club, overseeing business but the knots of guilt tightened in her stomach, leading her to the gates of Nevermore. Locating her office was simple, the door covered in a shiny gold plaque being a dead give away.

The emotional tidal waves were killing her as she battled her ego and pride before knocking on the door. As it opened she was immediately in front of the principal spewing apologises for being so early and rambling in a hope to deal with the overwhelming emotions building. “Come in Lesso” she commanded before stepping aside and letting the clearly overwhelmed woman inside.

“I’m sorry I’m early. I know the dove is working and I know you said to come by later but I-“ she rambled but was cut off by the blonde principal, “I know why you’re here Leonora, let’s not pretend you are here under any other circumstances shall we?”

There it was again, the nagging, gut wrenching feeling of guilt. “I’m sorry I just I’m sorry” she murmured struggling to look Larissa in the eyes. It was like she was peering into her soul, seeing every dirty little secret she was guarding with a wall that was crumbling too fast. “Kneel” Larissa offered causing the raven haired woman to fall to her knees. Instant submission. It wasn’t until she went wide eyes that the realisation hit, the humiliation of following her command and the relief of submission hit the poor woman all at once. “I know what you need puppy, but first you have to have your punishment for hurting our precious little dove. My sweet girl sobbed for hours at your cruel actions and I simply can’t have you hurting her again.”

“You remember your colours, you can stop this whenever Leo, but you wont want to will you? Cause your just a need stray needing mommys firm hand to guide you” Larissa reiterated before moving across her office and producing the next demand. “Strip and crawl to mommy, be a good little bitch and come get your punishment.” With only a small amount of hesitation the woman slowly crawled her way to the shifter, every small step taken reminding her of how she hurt her little dove. By the time she reached the table Leonora was sure of one thing. She deserved this. Whatever Larissa had in store, she needed it.

Almost as if she’d planned it, principal weems pulled a pair of nipple clamps from her desk drawer and secured them instantly. A sharp tug given to test the grip they had resulted in a pathetic whine from Lesso. “Shut up mutt. You know you need mommy to do this. You need mommy to hurt you don’t you little stray? Need mommy to help you fix this mess hmm?” She taunted watching as tears began to build in her eyes. “I need this mommy” was all she could whimper before Larissa tugged the chain to drag her body closer. “Use my shoe mutt. Show me how much you want me to help you. To fix this mess. Show me how sorry you can be pup and maybe I’ll help you.”

Humiliation rolled off the raven haired woman in waves so strong that they would knock down buildings. Her hips rolling pathetically against the toes of her high heeled shoe. An act so filthy she should’ve demanded Larissa be in her place. Fighting her dominance would’ve been useless. Larissa knew just as well as she did that Leonora needed this. Her poor brat was caving. A slender hand reached down the valley of her perky breasts and tugged hard on the chain, “off mutt you aren’t coming yet.”

Coming home from your shift feeling accomplished and confident again you were surprised to see Larissa had your boss curled up on a pile of blankets like a dog. Tears long since dried as she worked through her emotions. You’d be lying if you said the sight didn’t make your heart clench, “Mommy?” You murmured automatically collapsing into your role. “Hello sweet girl, don’t worry love it’s all okay. Our stray is okay this is all part of the plan” she reassured coming to wrap her arms around you in a tight loving hug.

Wrapped in her arms everything faded away as you soaked in her love. A whimper caught your attention as you really looked at your boss for the first time since that night. She looked like a shell of the woman you knew. “She okay?” You whimpered trusting your dominant lover implicitly. “She’s okay sweet girl I promise, colour sweet girl and yours mutt?” A faint mumbled “green” came from the woman curled up on the floor. Her blue eyes starring into your soul as you murmured a soft green too. Your eyes failing to leave Lesso’s form for long than a few minutes. “Time for your punishment mutt” Weems demanded while gently guiding you to her office chair. “Sit there sweet girl, Lesso has something to say to you darling.”

“Now mutt, I want you to take your punishment and tell dove everything you told me earlier. 10 spanks for each crime and however many our girl thinks you need for hurting her.” She commanded while leading the raven haired woman by her chains, the teeth of the clamps digging into her soft nipples hard enough to draw small little droplets of blood. “Pup? Cane or flogger?” A few moments of silence resulted in a warning spank to her bare ass. “Flogger please mommy.”

From your seat you could see how Larissa dragged lesso to lean over her desk in the perfect position to hold your gaze. “Talk mutt” was all your mommy offered before starting to deliver the punishment. “I’m sorry dove! I’m so sorry I shouldn’t have treated you -ouch- that way. I’m sorry, -fuck it hurts Oh god- I was so scared. I don’t want to be scared anymore. I want to love you. Will you let me love you how you deserve to be? Mommy will teach me the right way. I want to be with you both. God I’ve missed you” she sobbed out through hiccups as the flogger was rained down on her now rosy pink ass. “You hurt me daddy” you whimpered as the painful memories resurfaced.

A particularly hard smack caused the raven haired woman to gasp and continue her rambles. “I don’t know how to love very well. I deserve this. I need this. Thank you mommy for giving me this. I’m sorry” she cried out, chest heaving with sobs as Larissa continued to give the required number of spanks under your watchful eyes. “Go make nice pup, you’re all done. All forgiven.” Larissa muttered gently to lesso as she immediately crawled her way to your lap. Lovingly she placed her head full of raven curls on your lap, tears soaking through your loose bottoms.

“Mommy, I don’t want to get hurt” you whimpered, limbs shaking at the woman slouching into your lap, heart clenching with anxiety. “We will be carful sweet girl, from the conversations we had whilst you were dancing my love, she’s riddled in guilt, she can’t feel anything but the overwhelming feeling of pain and loneliness. She needs us, you, just like we need her. I’m not saying it will be easy and plain sailing, she has lots of issues to work through but with the love and support we can offer I think we can help her.”

“She hasn’t?” You whispered, looking down at the woman who was now passed out due to exhaustion, head In your lap as you unclamped the clamps gasping at the droplets of blood. “Mommy!” You gasped in shock and fear that you’d hurt her by helping clean her up. “Shush sweet girl I know just what our puppy needs let’s relocate to our room shall we?”

With ease Larissa scooped the club owner up into her arms and relocated her to the bed, fetching a warm washcloth to clean the sensitive skin and throughly abused ass. Using some cooling cream to sooth the area. “I’m sorry” she whimpered, voice thick with tears as she came back to the world of the living. “Shush all done now puppy, we are here” Larissa hushed as lesso instantly reached out blindly to find your hand. “Mmm here too daddy.”

“Mommy? Can I?” You mumbled shyly gesturing with your head to show your intention. “Do you want to sweet girl? You don’t have to my love. But if you want to please the puppy then you can. She’ll be good and take whatever you give her, right mutt?” A smack rained on her inner thigh causing a yelp and rushed confirmation. From there you positioned yourself between her legs and took an experimental swipe of her dripping cunt. “‘Mm mommy it’s good” you mumbled happily. Pussy drunk even. “Is that so sweet girl? Make her cum for mommy and then we can all go to bed darling.”

Making her come for you was simply an activity you adored if your happy little mewls being swallowed by her puffy lips as your tongue brought her over the edge with ease. “Good girl puppy. It’s all okay, all done now, good girl sweetheart, you made mommy so proud. Such a pretty pussy eater for me” the praise only adding to the almost drunk state you were now in. It didn’t take much persuasion to get you stripped off and snuggled up in between your boss and the principal of Nevermore, drifting off to sleep with a new sense of hope and love in your heart. Perhaps you would finally get to have both women. Your mommy and your daddy. A happy love filed life. The road would be long and full of bumps and turns but you’d all walk it together.

[heroes-among-us-all]

INFATUATION - Yandere!Chisaki Kai x Quirkless!Reader 

Sickness was inescapable. No matter where Chisaki looked, it was there. Thanks to the disgusting malady known as Quirks, the whole world was practically teeming with it. 

I shouldn’t be here. 

Chisaki scrunched up his nose as he waited in line, putting as much distance possible between himself and the other customers. He had a splitting headache and was in desperate need of coffee, but it was starting to feel like it wasn’t worth it. If only he’d been closer to home, then he wouldn’t have even thought to expose himself to all this chatter and filth. 

Thankfully, the mask he wore was enough to intimidate most of the other customers, and they were wary of giving him his space. He’d also been glaring at them with visible murderous intent, which probably helped. 

He eventually made it to the front counter, where a young woman with a pretty smile greeted him. 

“Hello,” you beamed. “What can I get for you today?” 

You were beautiful, no question about it, but that alone wasn’t enough to break through Chisaki’s mysophobia. The thought of being touched by anyone other than Pops made him shudder in revulsion. Every person he met was sick. Just because you were rather easy on the eyes didn’t make that any less true. 

“A small coffee,” Chisaki muttered. “Make it black. I don’t care for sugary things.” 

You nodded happily. “Sure thing. And what name can I put down for your order?” 

For a moment, he considered giving you the alias he’d taken on since becoming the leader of the Shie Hassaikai —Overhaul—but he supposed using his villain name so carelessly might arouse some suspicion.

“Just Chisaki is fine.” 

It was a name he’d discarded of for the most part, and when he uttered the syllables, he couldn’t help but feel they sounded a bit foreign. 

Perhaps he had made the right choice though, because your pleasant smile grew even wider after the fact. 

“That’s a lovely name,” you complimented, then rung the order in and accepted his payment. “It’ll be ready soon. Thank you!” 

Chisaki couldn’t deny that he was attracted to you, which is why is was such a shame. A shame that you were just as diseased as everyone else. 

Or so he’d thought. 

“Damn, [Name], you’re still working here?” an arrogant voice chuckled cruelly. “I thought they would’ve fired your Quirkless ass by now.” 

Quirkless...? 

Chisaki felt his brows lift. Instinctively, he turned back towards the counter and found that a group of people appeared to be heckling you—if your bitter expression was any indication. 

Your beautiful smile was nowhere to be found. “Can I please take your order?” you frowned. “There are other customers still waiting.” 

Needless to say, the people bullying you didn’t relent, not for a single moment. They made a big show of uttering all sorts of vile insults, and Chisaki could see the way your shoulders were trembling as you desperately tried to retain your composure. 

They’re a bunch of idiots. She’s the normal one, not them. I can’t believe they would take pride in being diseased. 

Chisaki felt as if he’d just found a goldmine. He’d finally met someone who struck his fancy, and not only that, but you were Quirkless. You were free of the malady that plagued the vast majority of the population. 

He would be an idiot not to act.

“You’re making a fool of yourselves,” he sneered, stepping closer to them. He normally hated to get near anyone, but in the interest of intimidating these assholes, he supposed he had no choice. “I suggest you walk away before you embarrass yourselves any further. You’re holding up the line and getting on everyone’s nerves. Disease-ridden scum.” 

“Huh?” the ringleader of the crew scoffed. “What’s your deal, douchebag? We can say whatever the hell we want. It’s a free country.” 

As much as Chisaki hated Quirks, his Quirk was entirely necessary if he wanted to purge this world and rid it of its filth. If he so desired, he could kill these morons on the spot, but that would hardly be a smart move. Besides, he didn’t want to risk scaring you off. 

He was still going to kill them, though. Just not right now. 

As it turned out, they were the type to talk a big game, but didn’t have the guts to follow through with their words. All it took was one violent glare from Chisaki’s golden eyes, and they seemed to buckle under the pressure. 

“Leave,” he demanded. “Get the hell out of here before I make you regret it.” 

They exchanged nervous glances before letting out a series of huffs and storming out of the store. What a bunch of cowards. He could have killed them all with his eyes closed. 

Once they were gone, he turned back towards you. 

“Are you alright?” he asked. “It sounded like they knew you. Does this sort of thing happen regularly?” 

You strained a smile. “Just some people I used to go to school with. It’s okay. I know they’re just trying to get a rise out of me. But thank you for speaking up. That was really nice of you. Oh, and... your order’s ready, by the way.” 

You slid the coffee over to him, and Chisaki wasn’t exactly sure what possessed him, but he went out of his way to ensure that his gloved fingers brushed against yours as he grabbed the cup. You didn’t have a Quirk, after all, which meant that you weren’t sick like the others. 

Even though I touched her, I don’t have any hives. 

You couldn’t see it because of his mask, but Chisaki was smiling. His spur-of-the-moment decision to come here had really paid off. 

“I realize you’re working right now, but would you be willing to give me your number?” he asked. “I find you to be incredibly beautiful, and the fact that you’re Quirkless doesn’t bother me. In fact, I prefer it that way.” 

Red hues burst across your cheeks, and you timidly bowed your head. “Oh, um... thank you,” you said with a shy smile. “I’m very flattered that you think so. I’m pretty sure I’m not really supposed to give out my number while I’m at work, but my shift is close to being over. If you’d like, maybe we could talk for a little while once I’m done?” 

Chisaki nodded, feeling his chest swell with excitement. “Yes, that would be perfect, thank you. I’m more than happy to wait.” 

True to your word, it didn’t take much longer for your shift to finish. You ended up taking a walk together outside, and Chisaki was so fixated on you that he hardly took any sips of his coffee, which was surely getting cold. He could tell that you were very friendly and open-minded, considering the fact that you’d so readily given him a chance. Perhaps you appreciated that he’d stood up for you. The thought of you being grateful and indebted to him thrilled Chisaki more than he could even put into words. 

“This was really nice, but I should probably head home soon,” you admitted. “I need to get some studying done. I have exams coming up soon. But I had a lot of fun! You’re such a nice person, Chisaki. I’m a bit curious, though. Why do you say you’d prefer for someone to be Quirkless?” 

“Quirks are a disease,” Chisaki immediately replied. “They are a mutation. Humans didn’t used to possess such powers in the past. What happened to the human species was a massive and detrimental genetic shift. Our bodies are no longer the way they once used to be, natural and unblemished. Quirks are a plague upon humanity.”

“I suppose they are a mutation, but...” You paused, then gave him a puzzled look. “It’s strange. Most people go crazy over Quirks, especially since it’s allowed for so many heroes to surface. To be honest, I’m used to being harassed over the fact that I don’t have a Quirk. It’s my first time meeting someone with a mindset like yours, and I have to admit, it’s really refreshing. You don’t look down on me, and... it means more than I can express.” 

She already considers me to be special.

The way you gazed at him with pure adoration in your eyes... Chisaki decided right then and there that he had to make you his. 

The first thing he did after you gave him your contact information was to look up anything and everything he could possibly find out about you. He had some of his underlings do some digging on their own end. You let a few details slip while you texted back and forth with him—the name of the university you attended, for instance—and slowly but surely, he was able to piece together the various aspects of your life. 

Even though you’d only just met, Chisaki was already infatuated with you. He had never had a such a strong desire to claim someone. He’d never yearned to be touched before, but ever since he’d met you, all he could think of was roaming his hands over every inch of your body, and letting you do the very same to him. 

His morality had long since gone out the window ever since he began experimenting on Eri to develop the anti-Quirk bullets, so he didn’t even bat an eye when he started stalking you all the way back to your apartment. 

The more you talked, and the more research he did on his own time, the more he learned about you—and good lord, every part of you really was perfect. He could hardly stand this anymore. You’d only just recently become acquaintances, and your relationship surely wasn’t developed enough for you to see him in a romantic light, but Chisaki was tired of waiting. He’d already waited his entire adult life to find someone he was interested in. Enough was enough. 

That evening, he broke into your apartment, and you found yourself pinned to the floor by him. 

“C-Chisaki?” you stammered nervously. Your eyes were wide and trembling as you gazed up at him. “What’s happening? How... how did you get in? I don’t even think I told you where I lived...”  

Instead of gracing you with a response, Chisaki did the thing he’d been yearning to do ever since you’d first met.

He removed his gloves and allowed his bare fingers to sink into your soft flesh.

“You’re so beautiful,” he groaned. His lower half was throbbing with arousal; it already felt like he was about to burst. “You’re perfect, [Name]. Just perfect. All for me.” 

He ran his fingers across every curve of your body, and by now you were already kicking and screaming, begging for him to release you. Tears blurred your vision. You couldn’t seem to understand why he was acting so differently all of a sudden, but you didn’t realize that this was nothing out of the ordinary. These were his true feelings for you, and he was a far more deranged man than you could have possibly known.

Chisaki gripped your wrists with one hand to hold you in place, then used his other hand to remove his mask. You were finally able to see his face in full for the first time. He’d always known he was objectively handsome, so he supposed you must have been quite thrilled with this turn-out. 

But you only cried harder. 

“Chisaki, please,” you sobbed. “I-I’m really scared. I don’t understand why you’re doing this. I liked you. We were getting to know each other... weren’t we? I promise I won’t cut you out of my life as long as you stop this right now.” 

She’s so adorable.

Chisaki couldn’t help but crack a little grin. You were gorgeous when you smiled, but the sight of your pretty face drenched in tears wasn’t half-bad either. He understood why you were a bit surprised, but you would come to terms with things quickly enough. You were interested in him too. That much was obvious. All he was doing was accelerating the process a bit, that’s all. 

“You’re exactly the kind of person I’ve been waiting for,” he breathed, cradling your cheek with one hand. He let the weight of his body keep you pressed to the ground, and you squeezed your eyes shut when his face drew closer to yours. “We’re going to be very happy together,” he insisted. “Now that I have you, everything is falling into place. The Shie Hassaikai will rise to its former glory again, and I’ll have the perfect bride through it all.” 

Chisaki paused for just a moment, reveling in how utterly helpless you were, then smashed his lips against yours. It was his first kiss, and he was sharing it with the most perfect person. Your lips were so soft and inviting. The way they trembled furiously as your tears fell just turned him on even more. 

He groaned into your mouth, plunging his tongue down your throat and forcing you to accept his twisted love. You choked from how forceful he was being. In between your whimpers and uncontrollable shaking, you didn’t have the strength or lucidity to put up a proper fight. 

Chisaki eventually broke away from the sloppy kiss, strings of saliva rolling down his chin as he gasped for breath. For a man deprived of touch for so long, it was almost too much stimulation for him to bear. 

“Perfect,” he mumbled again. “You’re so perfect, [Name]. I won’t let you get away. You’ll see that we’re meant to be together.” 

He grabbed your hand, which was limp and barely able to hold itself up, then pressed your palm down against his boner.

“Now, then,” he said, licking his lips. “How about we make each other feel really good?”

[oh-snapperss]

so indebted to you for cuteguy etho god bless

just for u.... i give u the accidental beginning of a cute guy fic in my drafts. it's pure crack and unedited btw

words: 1169

warnings: none

has like one line of implied shipping lol

“Etho, Etho!” Bdubs waves frantically, as if the two were greeting each other after a long few weeks apart, rather than a single day. 

“Oh, hey Bdubs!” Etho walks over, barely noticing when the door slams shut behind him. There’s plenty of other customers around, most wearing headphones and sitting at the tables, lost in their work. This morning, there’s no line, and Etho heaves a sigh of relief. He’d been up way too late, and he’s ready for a pick me up. 

“Have you seen the news?” Bdubs asks as soon as he’s at the counter. Over by one of the cabinets, a muted television plays, showing a broken window at one of the museums. Etho tears his eyes from it quickly. 

“Ah, you know me! I never do!”

“Someone broke into Cub’s museum last night!” Bdubs’ eyes are wide, gesturing at the TV anyways. 

Etho blinks, pushing down his rising horror. “No way.” He doesn’t know…surely….

“Yes way!” Bdubs leaned in conspiratorially. “They say that the Cute Guy outfit was stolen!” 

Etho’s grip on the strap of his backpack tightens. “That so?” 

“Yeah! I mean, who would do that, right?” Bdubs pushed back from the counter. “You want your usual, right?” 

“Yes please.” Etho draws out the ‘please’, as always. “Don’t forget the heavy whipping cream.”

“You know you’re the only reason I keep this in stock, right?” Bdubs rolls his eyes, bustling around the coffee shop. It’s a quaint place, smelling so strongly of coffee Etho is sure that he’ll be smelling it the rest of the day. Nonetheless, it was the best coffee shop in the whole city! Least, that was what Bdubs said. And if Etho ever said otherwise, he’d have his head gone by morning, probably. 

“Ah, come on! Best part of the whole coffee!” Etho protests, flicking parts of his napkin at Bdubs whenever his back is turned. 

“You’re disgu–stop flicking the napkin at me–you’re the worst! Don’t even know why I serve this to you, it’s gonna give you diabetes, you’re gonna die at the ripe age of however old you are, and then what’s ol’ Bdubs gonna do?” Throughout his ramble Bdubs flits around the coffeeshop, making Etho’s coffee regardless. It’s a simple enough order, just black coffee. 

…okay, and just as much heavy whipping cream. 

“I’m not gonna die! Takes a lot more than that to kill me!” Etho giggles, although he shifts from foot to foot. What does it take to kill him? He’s tempted to check and make sure his backpack is securely zipped up. 

“It does not take a lot more to kill you.” Bdubs glares at him, sliding the cheap disposable cup across the counter towards him. “Four dollars.” 

“Wh–it’s three-fifty!” 

“Yeah, but I need financial compensation for when this kills you.” Bdubs says smugly. “Pay up, sweetheart.” 

Etho’s not blushing at the endearment. No sirree. He would never, especially since he’s ninety percent sure Bdubs calls everyone that. 

“Etho?” Bdubs stares at him, unimpressed. “Just cause you’re my favorite customer doesn’t mean you get out of paying for your coffee.” 

“Ohhh, favorite customer, you say?” Etho grins, all thoughts abandoned in favor of teasing. “If I’m your favorite customer, can I get a disco-”

“No.” 

“Okay.” Etho laughs, and finally pulls his usual wad of cash from his pocket. “How much again?” 

“Three fifty. Just like yesterday, and the day before, and the–”

“Okay, okay, I get it!” Etho slides the money over, before hiking his backpack up his shoulder again. “Thanks, ‘dubs. See you around?” 

Bdubs barely even glances at him. “Yeah, tomorrow.”

“Or maybe at the grocery store? Oh wait, you’re too short–”

“Get out!” Bdubs flicks another napkin at him. “You’re the worst!”

His grin says otherwise, and Etho matches it with his own clear out of the shop. Once out, though… 

The streets are crowded, the sky overcast with light grey clouds. Shoot, he should have checked the weather before he left–if he gets stuck in a drizzle without a jacket, he’ll never hear the end of it from Scar, or Bdubs, or anyone else. 

He walks down the street, glancing around. iBuy seems particularly busy, and so does False’s fashion shop. He slips through the crowd, trying not to bring too much attention to himself. It’s a miracle no one has noticed his routine yet–get coffee, walk down street, duck into the alleyway entirely non suspiciously, and slip in the back door to his new job at HotGuy HQ. 

Insane, right? 

The second he’s through the backdoor, the alarms go off, as usual. It’s a simple matter of yanking a wire from the alarm system to turn it off, and then he continues forward as normal. 

“Scar?” He calls out, glancing around. The HQ is quiet today, not even a receptionist at the front desk. 

“You mean Hot Guy?” 

Etho spins around on his heel, to discover Scar standing at the top of the stairs. He’s fully decked out in his superhero outfit, each muscle outlined and complemented by his shirt. 

“Scar, it’s just us. Do we really need to call each other–”

“Never call each other by real names, Cute Guy. You never know who could be listening.” Scar lowers his head, so that the light shining behind it outlines each impeccable feature in shadow perfectly. “Our identities… must be kept secret. Forever.” 

“Ooookay.” Etho sighs. “Why’d you call me Cute Guy?” 

The light behind Scar goes out, leaving Scar blinking at Etho in confusion. “Because that’s… who you are?”

“What do you mean by that…?” Etho stares back, horror swirling in his gut. “Sca-Hot Guy, I just did you a favor by breaking into that museum. I’m not becoming Cute Guy, that’s someone else’s job–”

“What do you mean?” Scar grins. “That was your final test! To prove your strength, your valor, your bravery!”

“I’m pretty sure those last two words mean the same thi-”

“Did you get it?” Scar descends the steps, his bow clutched desperately in one hand. “Have you succeeded?” 

Etho sighs. When he’d signed up for Hot Guy lessons, he’d thought maybe it would help him pick up some flirting tips, not this! “Yes, S-Hot Guy, I got it.” He slings the backpack off his shoulder, tossing it to Scar without much fanfare. “I’m not wearing that.” 

The bag is caught easily, although Etho doesn’t miss the look of horror when it’s thrown. “You can’t just throw the Cute Guy outfit!”

“Sorry.”

Scar ignores his apology, unzipping the bag eagerly. Each part of the costume is pulled out eagerly, before being dropped on the floor in favor of the next piece. Pink skirt, pink jacket, fishnet tights, pink crop top and are those cat ears?

Etho decides not to point out the irony of half the costume being tossed to the floor after being scolded for throwing the backpack. Besides, he really needs to head on out anyways, he’s running late for work at the redstone department of iBuy–

“Try it on.” 

“What?”

[galaxywarp]

(please like if you read. and it would mean a lot to me if you read.)

————————

My body and my mind have been sick lately

So my sleep schedule has been fucked.

3am is a normal time to wake.

And just before the sun rises,

I find a couple of dollars

And I put some gas in my tank and I buy a cheap iced coffee,

And I drive and I watch the sun come up

While I listen to music that makes my friends sad.

And as I’m standing at the pump and overdrawing my bank account to put a few dollars of gas in my car,

And my speakers are playing a song about wanting to kill my father with a baseball bat,

I see a man around my age walking towards the gas station,

From out of the shadows of the distant sidewalk

Into the harsh light.

And he’s wearing an oversized sweatshirt and baggy sweatpants and he’s walking alone through the dark to a gas station at 5 in the morning to buy a lighter

And some part of me registers that this is a man who others may feel nervous about him approaching them through the darkness.

But in him I see myself.

And I miss being a meth addict.

And I miss his world. And I miss dragging myself, dirty and beaten, to the nearest gas station at 5 in the morning with loose change in my pocket to buy myself a lighter so that I can smoke my meth pipe.

And I get back in my car that’s still playing a song about wanting to kill my father with a baseball bat.

And I try to think about what it is I’m missing.

And I think of rooms of faces,

Painful, terrible, beautiful faces,

Where every person there understands exactly what it’s like to be at a gas station at 5 in the morning listening to a song about wanting to kill your father with a baseball bat.

And you don’t have to think about it.

You don’t have to talk about it.

They just hand you a pipe

And a lighter

And the pain goes away.

And I drive to pick up my iced coffee

And I don’t feel as bad about the iced coffee as I thought I would.

It’s only two dollars, after all.

And it’s easy to find two dollars, even when you have nothing else.

You can find two dollars in a lot of places.

In your couch.

In old jacket pockets.

In the kindness of a stranger.

And I’ve been hoarding loose change for years.

I keep it in my grandpa’s old ammunition box from the war.

The box where I keep one of the shells from the guns they fired at his and grandma’s funeral.

The box where I keep a dirty rusty nail that someone gave me in rehab.

Someone who didn’t make it, but I did.

The box where I keep the smooth pretty blue stone that the other patients passed around on my last day, that they held close to their hearts as they wished me strength on my journey. As they told me that I was strong and that I was going to make it.

And it’s the box where I keep my loose change

For iced coffee

And meth lighters.

It’s easy to find two dollars.

Your mom will give you two dollars

If you tell her it’s for iced coffee

And not meth lighters.

Your mom will give you two dollars

If you promise it’s not to kill yourself.

And in the drive thru the girl asks me to please wait a moment, she has to refill the coffee.

And I tell her it’s okay, really, no rush.

And she thanks me

And tells me she appreciates me.

And I think about all the jobs I’ve had

Where I had to ask a customer to please wait a moment

So I could do something important

Like refill the coffee

Or use heroin in the bathroom.

And when she hands me my iced coffee I say thank you

And I tell her “I appreciate you too”.

And I see her face fall, briefly,

As she is stunned by my words

Taken aback by this brief, fleeting moment of genuine kindness and connection.

And just as quickly she smiles at me

Truly smiles

And says thank you.

And I hurry and drive away, so she can deal with the rest of the cars in line

Many of which are running late for work

And who will blame her for it.

And I take my drive.

And I watch the sun rise.

And I listen to music that makes my friends sad.

And when I come home

I wash down my antidepressants with what’s left of my iced coffee

And I think about how I don’t miss being a meth addict.

I am a meth addict

Without his pipe.

[changingplumbob]

Villareal: Chapter 6, Part 3

Afternoon tea then Devin and Luna head out on a date.

For ease of reading if the toddlers are trying to say real words I'll put the English in brackets. Luna (mummy) and Devin (mama) use some German and Italian. Amore (Italian) Love Che cavolo (Italian) What the hell/F Schatz (German) Treasure Zia/Zio (Italian) Aunt/Uncle

It’s not healthy for Joey to spend a whole day at his desk so mid afternoon he gets up and does a brief workout. He doesn’t like fitness one bit, unfortunately for him the watcher does. And though Joey wouldn’t admit it he does like the results. He would never want to be built but a little muscle definition never killed anyone, and makes picking up women easier.

When Devin gets back from her run she goes to find Luna who is waiting for toddlers.

Luna: Good run?

Devin: It was. Are you still okay to go out for dinner

Luna: Absolutely! I trust Joey enough to believe he wont let the twins get hurt. Hyped on sugar maybe but not hurt

Devin: *laughs* Did you invite your brothers for family brunch

Luna: Hugo is a yes, Max is all “wait and see”

Alfred: Mama back! Back for potty time

Rilian: I want help!

Luna: Rilian? What do we say?

Rilian: I want help please

The women shepherd the twins into the bathroom. Both boys are able to attempt to go potty alone but things will be easier for Devin and Luna if they will actively seek to use the potties instead of their diapers. The twins are less spooked by the process now but Devin and Luna continue to give encouragement and reassurance to them. After both of them are finished Devin and Luna carry them to the kitchen for some afternoon tea.

Rilian: *grumpy* Why carry mama, I walk

Devin: Mama and Mummy have a dinner date

Luna: And carrying is quicker

Rilian pulls a face and the women chuckle. Each twin gets a peanut butter and jelly sandwich along with some orange juice.

Devin: Eat what you can Rilian, no hiding food

Luna: Zio Joey needs you to have all your energy

Alfred: Why

Devin: He’ll be looking after you while we’re out

Devin and Luna go to the hall to practice one of Devin’s upcoming scenes that has slightly stronger language than they want their sons using just now. The twins eat and chat.

Rilian: *blows kiss*

Alfred: *giggles* Yay!

Devin: *from other room* Che cavolo!

Alfred: *spooked* She find?

Rilian: *also spooked* Me think

Devin and Luna walk back in and the twins do their best to look innocent. Devin looks at them and sighs. After kissing each of their heads she walks back out and Luna sits down.

Luna: Who can guess what Mama just found

Alfred: *sadly* Smash

Luna: Yes. A smashed dollhouse

Devin surveys the damage. It’s hard to believe a toddler could have reached high enough to smash it that much but none of the grown ups in the house are responsible.

Luna: Who did it

Rilian: We?

Luna: Both of you? Are you sure?

Alfred: *sadly* Me Mummy

Luna: thank you for telling the truth Alfred

Alfred: I… in trouble?

Luna: Mama and I will talk about it but it’s always good to tell the truth, remember that Rilian

The twins look downcast but as Luna gets them out of their high chairs they waddle towards each other for a big hug. Sighing Luna cleans us their dishes.

Devin: 10 minute call, we’ll be off

Joey: Have fun, I’ll go find the twins

Devin and Luna make it to the Del Sol Eatery at 5pm sharp. Better take a quick selfie for posterity. They have always kept time for the two of them in their schedules and Joey living with them has allowed them a lot more of it recently. They don’t regret becoming mothers but they still enjoy being a couple and doing couple things. Couple things such as going out to eat on a Saturday night.

Devin: Hello, do you have a reservation for-

Bonnie: *in monotone* Welcome to Del Sol Eatery, the best little gem in the valley

Devin: Thank you. If we could-

Bonnie: *monotone continues* We offer our customers a range of dining experiences from experimental food to classic ice cream with a Del Sol flair. We have seating options at both bar height and regular height so you are sure to be satisfied

Devin: Lovely. Our reservation is for two-

Bonnie: *monotone continues* In the event of emergency please vacate the restaurant through the front exit in an orderly fashion. Please do not call the fire brigade if you see the chefs brandishing fire, it is part of their process

Devin: I know all about having a process

Bonnie: Hmm

Devin: We’re Mrs and Mrs Villareal, table for two

Bonnie: *in monotone* Our smaller tables have been overbooked this evening. If you wish to file a complaint please see management

She then turns and gestures towards a table the pair assume she wants them to go to. Deciding not to chance further the conversation with the host they walk up the stairs past the fountains to a table overlooking the chef stations.

Waiter: Here are your menus

Devin: Grazie. Can we have a placemat please

Luna: And crayons!

The waiter doesn’t take long to get them and Luna sets about filling hers in while Devin reads the menu to her.

Waiter: Hello again, have you made your choice ladies?

Devin: Simsmapolitan for me please, Luna wants…

Luna: *busy colouring* Whichever looks the prettiest

Waiter: Okay. And for meals?

Devin: Artisan fish trio sounds appetising, one of those please

Luna: And I’ll have the leprechaun one

Waiter: Leprechaun one?

Luna: *humming* The clover salad thing please

The waiter takes their menus back and a bemused Devin grins at Luna.

Devin: You having fun reveling in your childish trait amore mio

Luna: *smiling* Absolutely schatz. I love our boys but I do enjoy colouring without anyone trying to snatch the crayons

Previous ... Next

[bellobambino]

The Claim That Broke the Camel's Back

828 words

Summary: Frustrated CS student, Luigi Mangione, battles the maddening bureaucracy of his insurance company while juggling midterms and back pain. An underwhelming trip to Panda Express inspires him to make a change. Luigi's POV Author's Note: I could write about incompetent insurance reps all day. My whole life is working with this broken fucking system. Free Luigi.

I'm on my third cold brew of the day to get ready for this evening Machine Learning lecture. I'm wired, to say the least. I've written down a few questions I have for the professor that I'm hoping will be covered by the midterm review he's “gifting” us today. 

"Good evening, folks!" he booms, addressing the class. There’s a few murmurs from some students giving a half hearted hello. "I was debating whether or not to make a midterm review for this section of the course. Considering your test scores from February..." 

My phone vibrates with a 1800 number I know all too well. Dammit. I've been waiting a whole week for them to call me back about this billing mistake. I can’t believe they’re calling right now, but I have to settle this billing issue. I sigh, and claw my way out of the row of backpacks and purses, answering the phone as quietly as possible.

“Hello, this is Luigi.” I spit it out like I've said it a thousand times, flinging open the back door to the main hallway.

“Hi, Luigi, this is Tiffany calling from Blue Cross Blue Shield. I’m returning your call about a claim you want to appeal.”

Appeal? Appeal. Because nothing says "customer service" like making me clean up a mess they made and then gaslighting me about it.

I’m whisper-shouting now, rehashing for the millionth time how I never got the bill they insist they mailed to an address I haven’t lived at since MySpace peaked. Tiffany’s hitting me with the most insincere “mm-hmm”s—" i've ever heard.

“Why did you send the orthopedic bill to my parents’ house? I don’t live there,” I say, trying to keep the vein in my temple from exploding.

“Mr. Mangione, can you confirm your address for me, please?”

Confirm my address? I swear to God, these people couldn’t find their own ass with both hands and a Garmin. “Which address do you have on file for me? Because you’re sending this bill to Maryland, and I live in Pennsylvania.”

Tiffany pauses like she’s consulting the Oracle of Delphi. “Mr. Mangione, I’ll need you to confirm your mailing address in order to continue discussing your account.”

Breathe, Luigi. Breathe. “Fine. 212 Fairway Lane, Baltimore, Maryland, 20906.”

There’s the familiar clackity-clack of her keyboard, a sound I’ve come to associate with malicious incompetence. “Okay, Mr. Mangione, can I put you on hold?”

“Hold? You guys are killing me. I’m a full-time student; you called me in the middle of a lecture.”

“I’ll need to review your account information in order to transfer the case to the billing department.”

Hold on. “You’re not the billing department?”

There’s a pause so thick you could spread it on toast. “This is the claims department.”

I could scream. I peek through the window of the lecture hall door. The TA’s handing out the review sheet, and I’m out here playing phone tag with someone who doesn’t even have the power to solve this issue. “Alright, Tiffany, can you just give me the billing department’s direct line? So I can call when i'm not in class.”

She rattles off a number. I punch it into my phone notes like I’m defusing a bomb. I thank her—halfheartedly, because I was raised right- and hang up.

I'm back in my seat, having missed the professor going over test expectations. I unlock my phone and look at the number Tiffany gave me. Wait. I look at my recent call log.

No way. It’s the exact same number I’ve been calling for weeks. The member services line. An automated phone directory service that will "connect you to the best department", but only sends you in circles for hours just to disconnect you when you’re waiting to speak with a supervisor.

They’ve already threatened to send the bill to collections—a bill I’ve never even seen. They told me the procedure was 100% covered. Now I’m supposed to fork over cash I don’t have for something they said I didn’t owe in the first place.

Back at my dorm, I'm eating Panda Express alone like a fucking schmuck. The noodles taste like cardboard. I’d kill for my Ma's chicken parm. I gotta call her.

I finish up, and grab the take out bag to throw away the container. 

Oh, thats right. There’s the fortune cookie. I almost chuck it in the trash, but ... maybe Lu deserves a little treat today.

I crack open the cookie, shoving one half in my mouth, and unfurl the little piece of paper.

Be the change you want to see in the world.

I immediately roll my eyes. The change I want to see is insurance companies prioritizing patients' well being over shareholder profit. If I could do anything about that, I would. Trust me, I would.

I tape the fortune to the inside of my laptop, right next to the sticker of Breloom my sister gave me, and fling myself onto my bed. 

Be the change. Maybe I could.

[anemonelovesfiction]

I Believe I Am Crazy

Neytiri x Human! Male Reader

MDNI- Ageless blogs and minors will be blocked

Warnings ⚠️: Mature Themes! Fingering (male receiving), Jerking off, handjob, chocking, Neytiri self pleasure near the end.

I’m sure there are some men out there who feel left out from the xreader things since its mostly AFAB reader (not that there is anything wrong with that) but I figured you guys would want something for yourselves! Here that is!

-This is my first posted fic on tumblr so I’m sorry if its weird or you guys hate it but please be nice I’m super sensitive🥲

Neytiri was the one woman I’d thought hated me the most. I’d learned as much as the next guy and have nearly perfected my Na’Vi, but was still actively learning their customs. Throughout the entire time I’d spent learning the way of the Omaticaya, I’d spent more days with the future Tsahik than I can count. I’d been respectful, of course, but her silence, few words, and lingering side eyes told me everything I needed to know about how she felt toward me.

I’d been cautious around her and learned to not speak or find conversation with her as she would mostly ignore me, but it was impossible to ignore her lingering stares after coming back from a long hunting session. I’d taken the biggest beast back to the village without taking credit for it, instead, I let one of the younger teenagers from the clan take the honors.

Although I’m sure the hunting party I’d gone with was more loose lipped than I imagined, I just wanted To’ite to make the girl he liked swoon over him.

“I’m thankful for you, Y/n.” To’ite places hisuch larger hand on my human chest. “The others were wrong about your abilities. You continue to surprise us even while hunting in your human body.”

“I’m just glad I could prove ‘em wrong.” I laugh a littleC finally tearing my eyes away from the woman across the- room?

“I owe you.” He smiles.

“Name your kid after me?” I tease.

“Hell no.” He responds with a laugh as he heads off.

“I was starting to wonder if To’ite had been the most successful of the hunt.” Neytiri suddenly spoke behind me and I’d be lying if the hairs on my body weren’t standing at attention.

“I just wanted him to impress the girl he likes.” I admitted.

“Then you are considerate.” She talks and I’m beyond shocked. “What?” She asks.

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to sound rude but- this is the longest conversation we’ve had since I came here.”

I admit.

“Hmm.” She seems to state in agreement and the people by the fire start singing a song thanking Eywa for a bountiful hunt.

“I would like you to come with me.” She states before we could go back to doing our separate things and it catches me off guard.

I follow blindly behind her as I honestly was unsure as to what she had to say or show me. I had been curious and she was a fast walker. We reach the middle of a clearing with bioluminescent plants giving off a beautifully dim glow that illuminated much of what surrounded us.

“This is usually the part where the serial killer strikes.” I joke but when she turns her face shows confusion.

“Just a little Earth humor,” I explain quickly and she nods her head.

“Why are we here?” I asked and my brow raises but I stand upright with my arms crossed, waiting for her to tell me why she’d brought me here.

She only smiles and sits, patting the spot next to her as if silently asking me to join, I do so hoping she could tell me if I was going to get killed or not.

“I believe I am crazy, Y/n.”

“Why do you say that?” I asked while looking up at her, she was focusing her gaze toward the stars and she smiles, this is the only time I’d seen her stare not look condescending.

“Because.” She states.

“Uh-huh?” I urge her to continue and she turns to look at me, I’ve seen that look before, not on her but on other women, when they look at their mates. She doesn’t speak, she doesn’t need to, I understand.

“I see.” I respond “I think I’m crazy too.” I admit and meet her gaze and she smiles lightly.

I’m not sure how I ended up in her lap or even how she managed to take my loincloth on- I liked to keep one in my human size for when my avatar was being checked on by the medical team.

“F-fuck.” I cuss as she gingerly slides her fingers up and down my shaft.

“It is smooth.” Neytiri hums from behind me while slowing down her movements. I’m sure she did so to inspect my appendage but she was killing me right now.

“You tease.” I placed my hands on her thighs and try to push against her and feel the friction from before

“I see-“ She states and starts rubbing at a faster pace and settles my hips back down toward her lap with her other hand.

“S’good,” I groaned while throwing my head back onto her chest but closing my eyes to enjoy the feeling. I could feel her other hand rubbing my thigh gently and reaching to cup my balls and I moaned.

“Fuck, ‘Tiri-“ I sucked in a breath and she lets out a little laugh but continues her ministrations without ceasing.

She takes her time tracing my balls and gently stroking them as one while also sliding her hand gently, she was giving the head some extra attention and would often whip her wrist to twist her hand at the top and my thigh started shaking.

“You are enjoying this a lot,” theres a hint of a tease in her words, almost as if she was laughing, but she gasps when I gasp at the sensation of the hand that once held my balls had slid down and the tip of the finger had entered my ass.

“N-Neytiri,” I groan as she ever so slightly pushes the tip of her finger in and out, still jacking me off.

“Your fingers are b-big, fff-fuh-fuck-“ I moan and start trying to bounce on it but it was hard doing that whilst on her lap.

“Do you need me to go deeper?” She teases and twists her hand around the tip and I whimper. She coo’s while whispering how much of a great job I’m doing and I’m feeling the pit of my stomach tightly coiling.

“Please-“ I gasp as she does so, inserting a second finger in the process.

The Na’Vi are human in appearance, give or take a few features, and the female are often smaller than the males in size and height, but although they are, Neytiri’s fingers still feel incredibly big inside me.

“Fuck me, please!” I whimper as she hit’s my prostate and it felt like a tiny jolt of electricity going through my body, I could feel myself stiffen a bit and instantly relaxing at the feeling while remaining still to ensure she continue’s hitting that spot.

“Found it.” I can tell she’s smiling, the way her voice sounds, it’s giving it away.

“Please, please-“ I grunt and I sound animalistic while gritting my teeth and focusing in the pleasure she was giving me at the moment. How she knew what a prostate was or how she knew where to find it was beyond me, all I can focus on was the toe curling sensation she was giving me.

“Are you close?” She asks and I nod and grunt at the same time.

“Good.” She states simply and lets go of my cock.

“Ugh-“ I whine as her hand immediately reaches over to my neck and she squeezes the sides.

“I heard humans like this part a lot,” She continues thrusting her thick fingers in my ass and I’m also feeling twice as aroused from her sudden squeeze alongside my neck.

“Is this true?” She asks and slows down her thrusting.

“Yes, yes, please don't stop!” I try to slide on her fingers to get her to go faster but she chuckles a bit.

“Do you need some help?” She teases while slowly squeezing my neck.

“I need to cum, please,” I beg.

“You can,” She speeds her fingers to go faster than she was before, my cock was standing at attention, and I could feel the coil tighten even more.

“When I say you can.” She slows down again and I choke on nothing as she chuckles behind me.

“Please I can’t hold it for much longer-“ I try putting my focus on something else but it’s hard to when all I want to do is cum.

“Then I give you permission to cum.” She slows down her fingers even more. “But I want to see your face as you do.” She turns me around and lays be down before shoving three of her fingers inside.

The stretch is wonderful and I feel full on her fingers alone. I can feel her thrusting even faster than before and all I can think of was thanking Eywa for whatever scientist made sure these masks didn’t fog up with exertion. I could see her beautiful face staring at mine as she bites her lip and her other hand is moving as well. I look down and see she’s moved her loincloth to the side and was rubbing her own clit.

“Oh fuck, thats hot,” I mutter and she smiles while still biting her lip and focuses back on thrusting into my ass.

“Cum, Y/n, cum.” She grunts.

Looking back down I can see her pussy fluttering over nothing as some wet liquid comes out, and that does it for me.

Cum shoots out of my cock in pulses as she continues rubbing my prostate but her movements slow significantly and she stops when my penis goes limp. She smiles and slowly pulls her fingers out one by one while making sure she doesn’t hurt me. It warms my heart that she’s moving so gently and I sit up. She looks a little shy but I whip my mask off and her eyes widen as I walk toward her. Before she has the chance to say anything I grab her face and kiss her gently, once I come up for air I place the mask back on and she blushes.

“Thank you, for being crazy. It justifies my crazy too.” I gently place my hand in her cheek and she chuckles.

“Get dressed, Y/n, we need to go meet with the others.”

“I don’t think anyone will miss us if we decide to stay out here a little longer.” I tease and she rolls her eyes while fidgeting with her loincloth.

“I don’t think you’ll be needing that on any time soon.” I gently placed my hand on hers to stop her.

“But I already came-“

“Yes, but my wonderful woman, there is a think on earth we call multiple orgasms. And I want to see of I can give you another one on my own.”

“Multiple?” She asks and I nod.

“Show me.” She states and I smile.

“Take your clothes off,” I smirk and she unties her loincloth once more.